THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

IN  MEMORY  OF 

PAUL  TURNER,  U.S.M.C.R. 

KILLED  IN  ACTION,  SAIPAN 

JUNE,  1944 


c/vt-A.'*^.^-*-'*-^^  ■ 


KwUr  oUUt 


^m 


jrfj- 


The  first  A'wj.— Page  ii6. 


NOVELS 


OF 


GEORGE    ELIOT. 


VOL.   V. 


RO  M  OLA. 


With  Illustrations. 


^l^^Z'kl^. 


["i: 


FLOKENCE. 


^^fT    YORK: 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS, 

FRANKLIN      SQUA  RE. 


R  O  M  O  L  A 


BY 


GEORGE    ELIOT 


HARPER'S  LIBRARY  EDITION. 


NEW    YORK: 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS. 

»RANKLIN     SQUARE. 


Al 


CONTENTS. 


Proem ..Page  11 

CmVPTER  I. 
The  Shipwrecked  Stranger 18 

CHAPTER  II. 
A  Breakfast  for  Love 31 

CHAPTER  III. 
The  Barbers  Shop 35 

CHAPTER  IV. 
First  Impressions 45 

CHAPTER  V. 
The  BUnd  Scholar  and  his  Daughter 48 

CHiU'TER  VI. 
Dawning  Hopes 61 

CHAPTER  VII. 
A  Learned  Squabble Id 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
A  Face  in  the  Crowd -. 8] 

CHAPTER  IX. 
A  Man's  Ransom 93 

CHAPTER  X. 
Under  the  Plane-tree 99 

CHAPTER  XL 
Tito's  Dilemma 110 

CHAPTER  XII. 
The  Prize  is  nearly  grasped 113 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
The  Shadow  of  Nemesis 124 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

The  Peasants'  Fair ,  .  131 

CHAPTER  XV. 
The  Dying  Message ..■ 144 

613908 


Vm  CONTENTS. 

riiArxER  XVI. 

A  Florentine  Joke Page  153 

CHAl'TEU  XVII. 
Under  the  Loggia 1G4 

CIIArTER  XVIII. 
The  Portrait 170 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
The  Old  Man's  Hope 175 

ClIAPTKR  XX. 
Tlie  Day  of  the  Betrothal 179 

CILU'TER  XXI. 
Florence  expects  a  Guest 188 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
The  Prisoners 10-t 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
After-thoughts 201 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
Inside  the  Duomo 20-t 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
Outside  tho  Duomo 210 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 
The  Garment  of  Fear 214 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 
The  Young  Wife 219 

CIIAI'TER  XXVIII. 
The  Painted  Record 229 

(CHAPTER  XXIX. 
A  Moment  of  Triumph 233 

CHAPTER  XXX. 
The  Avenger's  Secret 240 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 
Fruit  is  Seed 248 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 
A  Revelation 253 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 
Biildasfiarre  makes  an  Acquaintance 262 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

No  Place  for  Repentance 270 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 
What  l-lorcncc  wai  thinking  of. 281 


CONTENTS.  H 

CH^VPTEK  XXXVI. 
Ariadne  discrowns  herself. .....Page  284 

CHAPTER  XXXVII. 
The  Tabernacle  unlocked 293 

CHAPTER  XXX\aiI. 
The  black  Marks  become  Magical ^  297 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 
A  Supper  in  the  Euceilai  Gardens 303 

CHAPTER  XL. 
An  an-esting  Voice , 319 

CHAPTER  XLI. 
Coming  back 326 

CHAPTER  XLII. 
Romola  in  her  Place 829 

CHAPTER  XLIII. 
The  unseen  Madonna 336 

CHAPTER  XLIV. 
The  visible  Madonna 342 

CHAPTER  XLV. 
At  the  Barber's  Shop 348 

CHAPTER  XLVI. 
By  a  Street  Lamp 35G 

CHAPTER  XLVII. 
Check 364 

CHAPTER  XLVIIL 
Counter-check 3G7 

CHAPTER  XLIX. 
The  PjTamid  of  Vanities 372 

CHAPTER  L. 
Tessa  Abroad  and  at  Home 378 

CHAPTER  LI. 
JHonna  Brigida's  Conversion 387 

CHAPTER  LII. 
A  Prophetess 392 

CHAPTER  LIII. 
On  San  Miniato 398 

CHAPTER  LIV. 
Tlie  Evening  and  the  Morning 403 

'chapter  LV. 

Waiting ,.  400 

1* 


X  CONTENTS. 

CH  A  ITER  LVI. 
The  Other  Wife Page  409 

CIIAPTKK  LVI  I. 
Why  Tito  was  Safe 420 

CIIAl'TKll  LVIII. 
A  Final  Understanding 42G 

CIIAITEK  LIX. 
Pleading 431 

ClIAl'TEIl  LX. 
The  Scaft'old 439 

CILVPTEU  LXI. 
Drifting  Away 445 

CHArTEU  LXI  I. 
The  Benediction 450 

CHAPTER  LXI  1 1. 
Kipennig  Schemes 454 

CHAPTER  LXIV. 
The  Prophet  in  his  Cell 4G5 

CHAPTER  LXV. 

The  Trial  liy  Fire 472 

CHAPTER  LXVI. 
A  Masque  of  the  Furies 479 

CHAPTER  LXVI  I. 

"Waiting  by  the  River 483 

CHAPTER  LXVIII. 
Komola's  Waking 489 

CHAPTER  LXIX. 
Homeward 497 

CHAPTER  LXX. 
Meeting  Again SOO 

CHAPTER  LXXI. 
The  Confession C05 

CHAPTER  LXXII. 
The  Last  Silence •''>11 

Epilogue ^1* 


ROMOLA. 


PROEM. 

More  than  three  centuries  and  a  half  ago,  in  the  mid  springs 
time  of  1492,  we  are  sure  that  the  star-quenching  angel  of  the 
dawn,  as  he  travelled  with  broad  slow  wing  from  the  Levant  to 
the  Pillars  of  Hercules,  and  from  the  summits  of  the  Caucasus 
across  all  the  snowy  Alpine  ridges  to  the  dark  nakedness  of 
the  western  isles,  saw  nearly  the  same  outline  of  firm  land  and 
unstable  sea — saw  the  same  great  mountain  shadows  on  the 
same  valleys  as  he  has  seen  to-day — saw  olive  mounts,  and  pine 
forests,  and  the  broad  plains,  green  with  young  corn  or  rain- 
freshened  grass — saw  the  domes  and  spires  of  cities  rising  by 
the  river  sides  or  mingled  with  the  sedge-like  masts  on  the 
many-curved  sea-coast,  in  the  same  spots  where  they  rise  to- 
day. And  as  the  faint  light  of  his  course  pierced  into  the 
dwellings  of  men,  it  fell,  as  now,  on  the  rosy  warmth  of  nestling 


12  ROMOLA. 

children  ;  on  tho  linijccarcl  wakincj  of  sorrow  and  sicknoss  ;  on 
the  liasty  uprisiny;  ut  tlu'  hai  il-haiuhMl  liiljort.T  :  and  on  llie 
late  sleep  of  the  uight-stiident,  who  liad  been  questioning  tlic 
stars  or  tlie  sages,  or  liis  own  soul,  for  that  hi(hlen  knowledge 
whicli  ^vould  break  through  the  barrier  of  man's  brief  life,  and 
show  its  dark  path  that  seemed  to  bend  now  liither,  to  be 
an  arc  in  an  immeasurable  circle  of  light  and  glory.  The 
great  river-courses  whicli  have  shaped  the  lives  of  men  liave 
hardly  changed  ;  and  those  other  streams,  the  life-currents  that 
ebb  and  flow  in  human  hearts,  pulsate  to  the  same  great  needs, 
the  same  great  loves  and  terrors.  As  our  thought  follows 
close  in  the  slow  wake  of  the  dawn,  we  are  impressed  with  the 
broad  sameness  of  the  human  lot,  which  never  alters  in  the 
main  headings  of  its  history — hunger  and  labor,  seed-time  and 
liarvest,  love  and  death. 

Even  if,  instead  of  following  the  dim  day-break,  our  imag- 
ination pauses  on  a  certain  liistorical  spot,  and  awaits  the  full- 
er morning,  we  may  see  a  world-famed  city,  which  has  hardly 
changed  its  outline  since  the  days  of  Columbus,  seeming  to 
stand  as  an  almost  unviolated  symbol,  amidst  the  flux  of  hu- 
man things,  to  remind  us  that  we  still  resemble  the  men  of  the 
]iast  more  than  we  differ  from  them,  as  the  great  mechanical 
j)rineiples  on  which  those  domes  and  towers  were  raised  must 
make  a  likeness  in  human  building  that  will  be  broader  and 
deeper  than  all  possible  change.  And  doubtless,  if  the  spirit 
of  a  Florentine  citizen,  whose  eyes  were  closed  for  the  last 
time  while  Columbus  was  still  waiting  and  arguing  for  tho 
three  poor  vessels  with  which  he  was  to  set  sail  from  the  port 
of  l*alos,  could  return  from  the  shades,  and  ])ause  where  our 
thought  is  i)ausing,  he  would  believe  that  there  nuist  still  bo 
fellowship  and  understanding  for  him  among  the  inheritors  of 
his  birth-j)lace. 

Let  us  suppose  that  such  a  Shade  lias  been  permitted  to  re- 
visit the  glim])ses  of  the  golden  morning,  and  is  standing  once 
more  on  the  famous  hill  of  San  IVIiniato,  which  overlooks 
Florence  from  the  south. 

The  Spirit  is  clothed  in  his  habit  as  he  lived  ;  the  folds  of  his 
well-lined  l)lack  silk  garment  or  lucco  hang  in  grnve,  unbroken 
lines  from  neck  to  ankle  ;  his  plain  cloth  cap,  with  its  becchetto 
or  long  hanging  strip  of  di-apery,  to  serve  as  a  scarf  in  case  of 
need,  surmounts  a  pciictiatiiig  face,  not,  perhaps,  very  liand- 
some,  but  with  a  Arm,  well-cut  mouth,  kept  distinctly  human 
by  a  close-shaven  lip  and  chin.  It  is  a  face  ch-irged  with  mem- 
ories of  a  keen  and  various  life  passed  below  there  on  tho 
banks  of  the  gleaming  river;  and  as  he  looks  at  the  scene  be- 
fore him,  the  sense  of  familiarity  is  so  much  stronger  than  the 


EOMOLA.  1 3 

perception  of  change  that  he  thinks  it  might  be  possible  to 
descend  once  more  among  the  streets,  and  take  up  that  busy 
life  where  he  left  it.  For  it  is  not  only  the  mountains  and  the 
westward-bending  river  that  he  recognizes  ;  not  only  the  dark 
sides  of  Mount  Morello  opposite  to  him,  and  the  long  valley 
of  the  Arno,  that  seems  to  stretch  its  gray,  low-tufted  luxuri- 
ance to  the  far-off  ridges  of  Carrara ;  and  the  steep  height  of 
Fiesole,  with  its  crown  of  monastic  walls  and  cypresses ;  and 
aU  the  green  and  gray  slopes  sprinkled  with  villas  which  he  can 
name  as  he  looks  at  them.  He  sees  other  familiar  objects  much 
closer  to  his  daily  walks.  For  though  he  misses  the  seventy 
or  more  towers  that  once  surmounted  the  walls,  and  encircled 
the  city  as  with  a  regal  diadem,  his  eyes  will  not  dwell  on  that 
blank  ;  they  are  drawn  irresistibly  to  the  unique  tower  spring- 
ing, like  a  tall  flower-stem  drawn  towards  the  sun,  from  the 
square-turreted  mass  of  the  Old  Palace  in  the  very  heart  of 
the  city — the  tower  that  looks  none  the  worse  for  the  four 
centuries  that  have  passed  since  he  used  to  Avalk  under  it. 
The  great  dome,  too,  the  greatest  in  the  world,  which,  in  his 
early  boyhood,  had  been  only  a  daring  thought  in  the  mind  of 
a  small,  quick-eyed  man — there  it  raises  its  large  curves  still, 
eclipsing  the  hills.  And  the  well-known  bell-towers — Giotto's, 
with  its  distant  hint  of  rich  color,  and  the  graceful-spired  Badia, 
and  the  rest — he  looked  at  them  all  from  the  shoulder  of  his 
nurse. 

"  Surely,"  he  thinks,  "  Florence  can  still  ring  her  bells  with 
the  solemn  hammei--sound  that  used  to  beat  on  the  hearts  of 
her  citizens  and  strike  out  the  fire  there.  And  here,  on  the 
right,  stands  the  long,  dark  mass  of  Santa  Croce,  where  Ave 
buried  our  famous  dead,  laying  the  laurel  on  their  cold  brov\'8 
and  fanning  them  with  the  breath  of  praise  and  of  banners. 
But  Santa  Croce  had  no  spire  then :  we  Florentines  were  too 
full  of  great  building  projects  to  carry  them  all  out  in  stone 
and  ma^-ble  ;  we  had  our  frescos  and  our  shrines  to  pay  for, 
not  to  speak  of  rapacious  condottieri,  bribed  royalty,  and  pur- 
chased territories,  and  our  fa9ades  and  spires  must  needs  wait- 
But  what  architect  can  the  Frati  Minoi-i*  have  employed  to 
build  that  spire  for  them  ?  If  it  had  been  built  in  my  day, 
Filippo  Brunelloschi  or  Michelozzo  would  have  devised  some- 
thing of  another  fashion  than  that — something  worthy  to 
crown  the  church  of  Arnolfo." 

At  this  the  Spirit,  with  a  sigh,  lets  his  eyes  travel  on  to  the 
city  walls,  and  now  he  dwells  on  the  change  there  with  won- 
der at  these  modern  times.  Why  have  five  out  of  tiie  eleven 
convenient  gates  been  closed  ?      And  Mdiy,  above  all,  should 

*  The  Franciscans. 


1 4  KOMOLA. 

the  towers  liave  l)Oon  levelled  tliat  Averr  once  a  cflory  and  de- 
fense y  Is  the  McjiM  hecoinu  so  peaci'fiil,  then,  and  do  Floren- 
tines dwell  in  such  harmony,  that  there  are  no  longer  conspir- 
acies to  briiiLT  anil)itious  exiles  home  aujain  with  armed  hands 
at  their  back?  These  are  ditlieult  questions:  it  is  easier  and 
j)leasanter  to  recognize  the  old  than  to  account  for  the  new. 
And  there  Hows  Arno,  with  its  bridges  just  where  they  used  to 
be — the  I'onte  Vecchio,  least  like  other  bridges  in  the  world, 
laden  with  the  same  (|uaint  shops,  Avhere  our  Spirit  remembers 
lingering  a  little,  on  his  way,  perhaps,  to  look  at  the  progress 
of  that  great  jialace  which  Messer  Luca  l*itti  had  set  a-build- 
ing  with  huge  stones  got  from  the  Hill  of  Bogoli*  close  be- 
hind, or,  periiaps,  to  transact  a  little  business  with  the  cloth- 
dressers  in  Oltrarno.  The  exorbitant  line  of  the  Pitti  roof  is 
hidden  from  San  Miniato ;  but  tlie  yearning  of  the  old  P^lor- 
entine  is  not  to  sec  Messer  Luca's  too  ambitious  palace  which 
he  built  unto  himself ;  it  is  to  be  down  among  those  narrow 
streets  and  busy  humming  Piazze  where  he  inherited  the 
eager  life  of  his  fathers.  Is  not  the  anxious  voting  with  black 
and  white  beans  still  going  on  down  there  ?  Who  are  the 
Priori  in  these  months,  eating  soberly-regulated  official  din- 
ners in  the  Palazzo  Vecchio,  with  removes  of  tripe  and  boiled 
partridges,  seasoned  by  practical  jokes  against  the  iil-tated  butt 
among  those  potent  signors  ?  Are  not  the  significant  banners 
still  hung  from  the  windows — still  distributed  with  decent 
pomp  under  Orcagna's  Jjoggia  every  two  months? 

Life  had  its  zest  for  the  old  Florentine  when  he,  too,  trod 
the  marble  steps  and  shared  in  those  dignities.  His  politics 
had  an  area  as  wide  as  his  trade,  which  stretched  from  Syria 
to  liritain,  but  they  had  also  the  passionate  intensity,  and 
the  detailed  practical  interest,  which  could  belong  only  to  a 
narrow  scene  of  corporate  action  ;  only  to  the  members  of  a 
coinmimify  shut  in  close  by  the  hills  and  by  walls  of  six 
miles'  circuit,  where  men  knew  each  other  as  they  passed  in 
the  street,  set  their  eyes  every  day  on  the  memorials  of  their 
commonwealth,  and  Avere  conscious  of  having  not  only  the 
'•:ght  to  vote,  but  the  chance  of  being  voted  for.  He  loved 
his  honors  and  his  gains,  the  business  of  his  counting-house, 
of  his  guild,  of  the  public  council-chamber;  he  loved  his  en- 
mities, too,  and  fingereil  the  Avhite  bean  Avhich  was  to  keep  a 
hated  name  out  of  the  horsa  with  more  complacency  than  if 
it  had  been  a  golden  florin.  He  loved  to  strengthen  his  family 
by  a  good  alliance,  and  went  home  Avith  a  triumphant  light  in  his 
eyes  after  concluding  a  satisfactory  pdrciditdo,  or  marriage  for 
his  son  or  daughter,  under  Ids  favorite  loggia  in  the  evening 

*  Now  Boholi. 


ROMOLA,  15 

cool;  he  loved  his  game  at- chess  under  that  same  loggia,  and 
his  biting  jest  and  even  his  coarse  joke,  as  not  beneath  the 
dignity  of  a  man  eligible  for  the  highest  magistracy.  He  had 
gained  an  insight  into  all  sorts  of  affairs  at  home  and  abroad ; 
he  had  been  of  the  "  Ten  "  who  managed  the  war  department, 
of  the  "  Eight "  Avho  attended  to  honie  discipline,  of  the 
Priori  or  Signori  who  were  the  heads  of  the  executive  gov- 
ernment ;  he  had  even  risen  to  the  supreme  office  of  Gonfalo- 
niere;  he  had  made  one  in  embassies  to  the  Pope  and  to  the 
Venetians  ;  and  he  had  been  commissary  to  the  hired  army 
of  the  Republic,  directing  the  inglorious  bloodless  battles  in 
which  no  man  died  of  brave  breast-wounds — virtuosi  coljn — but 
only  of  casual  falls  and  tram]ilings.  And  in  this  way  he  had 
learned  to  distrust  men  without  bitterness  ;  looking  on  life 
mainly  as  a  game  of  skill,  but  not  dead  to  traditions  of  heroism 
and  clean-handed  honor.  For  the  human  soul  is  hospitable, 
and  will  entertain  conflicting  sentiments  and  contradictory 
opinions  with  much  impartiality.  It  was  his  pride,  besides, 
that  he  was  duly  tinctured  with  the  learning  of  his  age,  and 
judged  not  altogether  with  the  vulgar,  but  in  harmony  Avith 
the  ancients  :  he,  too,  in  his  piime,  had  been  eager  for  the  most 
correct  manuscripts,  and  had  paid  many  florins  for  antique 
vases  and  for  disinterred  busts  of  the  ancient  immortals — 
some,  perhaps,  trimcis  naribus,  wanting  as  to  the  nose,  but  not 
the  less  authentic ;  and  in  his  old  age  he  had  made  haste  to 
look  at  the  early  sheets  of  that  fine  Homer  which  was  among 
the  early  glories  of  the  Florentine  press.  But  he  had  not,  for 
all  that,  neglected  to  hang  up  a  waxen  image  or  double  of  him- 
self under  the  protection  of  the  Madonna  Annunziata,  or  to  do 
penance  for  his  sins  in  large  gifts  to  the  shrines  of  saints  A\bose 
lives  had  not  been  modelled  on  the  study  of  the  classics ;  he 
had  not  even  neglected  making  liberal  bequests  towards  build 
ings  for  the  Frati,  against  whom  he  had  levelled  may  a  jest. 

For  the  Unseen  Powers  were  mighty.  Who  knew — Avho 
was  sure — that  there  was  any  name  given  to  them  behind 
which  there  was  no  angry  force  to  be  appeased,  no  intercesso- 
ry pity  to  be  won  ?  Were  not  gems  medicinal,  though  they 
only  pressed  the  finger  ?  Were  not  all  things  charged  with 
occult  virtues?  Lucretius 'might  be  right — he  was  an  ancient 
and  a  great  poet;  Luigi  Pulci,  too,  who  was  suspected  of  not 
believing  any  thing  from  the  roof  upward  (dal  tetto  in  sii), 
had  very  much  the  air  of  being  right  over  the  supper-table, 
when  the  wine  and  riboboli  were  circulating  fast,  though  he 
was  only  a  poet  in  the  vulgar  tongue.  There  were  even  learn- 
ed personages  who  maintained  that  Aristotle,  wisest  of  men 
(unless,  indeed,  Plato  were  wiser?),  was  a  thoroughly  irrelig- 


IG  ROMOLA. 

ions  pliilosoplicr ;  and  a  liberal  scliolar  must  entertain  all 
8|)eculali()ns.  J>ul  the  negatives  niiglit,  after  all,  prove  false; 
nay,  sccmeil  manifestly  false,  as  the  circling  liours  swept  past 
him,  and  turned  round  "willi  graver  faces.  For  had  Jiot  tho 
world  l)econK'  Christian?  Had  he  not  been  baptized  in  San 
Giovaimi,  where  the  dome  is  awful  with  the  symbols  of  com- 
ing judgment,  and  where  the  altar  bears  a  crucified  Image  dis- 
turbing to  perfect  complacency  in  one's  self  and  the  world? 
Our  resuscitated  Sjtirit  was  not  a  pagan  jthilosojiher,  nor  a 
philosophizing  i)agan  poet,  but  a  man  of  the  fifteenth  century, 
inheriting  its  strange  Aveb  of  belief  and  unbelief  ;  of  Ejiicurean 
levity  and  fetichistic  dread  ;  of  pedantic  impossible  ethics  ut- 
tered by  rote,  and  crude  passions  acted  out  with  chihlish  im- 
pulsiveness ;  of  inchnation  towards  a  self-indulgent  paganism, 
and  inevitable  subjection  to  that  human  conscience  which,  in 
tlic  unrest  of  a  new  growth,  was  filling  the  air  with  strange 
pro))hecies  and  presentiments. 

lie  had  smiled,  periiajis,  and  shaken  his  head  dubiously,  as 
he  heard  simple  folk  talk  of  a  l*ope  Angelico,  who  was  to 
come  byand-by  and  bring  in  a  new  order  of  things,  to  purify 
the  Church  from  simony,  and  th.e  lives  of  the  clergy  from 
scandal — a  state  of  affairs  too  different  from  Avhat  existed  un- 
der Innocent  the  Eighth  for  a  shrewd  mercliaiit  and  ])olitician 
to  regard  tho  prospect  as  worthy  of  entering  into  liis  calcula- 
tions. But  he  felt  the  evils  of  the  time,  nevertheless  ;  for  he 
was  a  man  of  public  s])irit,  and  public  spirit  can  never  be 
wholly  immoral,  since  its  essence  is  care  for  a  common  good. 
That  very  Qnaresima,.  or  Lent,  of  1 492,  in  which  he  died,  still  in 
Ins  erect  old  age,  he  had  listened  in  San  Lorenzo,  not  without 
a  mixture  of  satisfaction,  to  the  preaching  of  a  Dominican 
friar,  who  denounced  with  a  rare  boldness  the  worldliness  and 
vicious  habits  of  the  clergy,  and  insisted  on  the  duty  of  Chris- 
tian men  not  to  live  for  their  own  case  when  wrong  was  tri- 
nm])hing  in  high  ])laces,  and  not  to  s)»end  their  wealth  in  out- 
ward ])omp  even  in  the  churches,  when  their  fellow-citizens 
were  suffering  from  want  and  sickness.  The  /'V(//tU'arried  his 
doctrine  rather  too  far  for  elderly  ears  ;  yet  it  was  a  memo- 
rable thing  to  see  a  preacher  move  his  audience  to  such  a 
pitch  that  the  Momen  even  took  off  their  ornaments,  and  de- 
livcrecl  them  up  to  be  sold  for  the  benefit  of  the  needy. 

"lie  was  a  noteworthy  man,  that  Prior  of  San  Marco," 
thinks  our  Spirit ;  "  somewhat  arrogant  and  extreme,  perhaps, 
especially  in  his  denunciations  of  speedy  vengeance.  Ah, 
Jdil'io  non  pii(i<i  11  ,S(i/>(ito* — the  wages  of  men's  sins  r)fti'n 
linger  in  their  j>ayment,  and  I  myself  saw  much  established 
*  God  does  not  pay  on  a  Saturday. " 


ROMOLA.  1 7 

wickedness  of  long-standing  prosperity.  But  a  Frate  Predi- 
catore  who  Avanted  to  move  the  people — how  could  he  be 
moderate  ?  He  might  have  been  a  little  less  defiant  and  curt, 
though,  to  Lorenzo  de'  Medici,  whose  family  had  been  the  very 
makers  of  San  Marco  :  was  that  quarrel  ever  made  up  ?  And 
our  Lorenzo  himself,  with  the  dim  outward  eyes  and  the  sub- 
tle inward  vision,  did  he  get  over  that  illness  at  Careggi?  It 
was  but  a  sad,  uneasy-looking  face  that  he  Avould  carry  out  of 
the  world  which  had  given  him  so  much,  and  there  were 
sti-ong  suspicions  that  his  handsome  son  would  play  the  part 
of  Rehoboam.  How  has  it  all  turned  out  ?  Which  party  is 
likely  to  be  banished  and  have  its  houses  sacked  just  now  r 
Is  there  any  successor  of  the  incomparable  Lorenzo,  to  whom 
the  great  Turk  is  so  gracious  as  to  send  over  presents  of  rare 
animals,  rare  relics,  rare  manuscripts,  or  fugitive  enemies,  suit- 
ed to  the  tastes  of  a  Christian  Magnifico  who  is  at  once  letter- 
ed and  devout — and  also  slightly  vindictive?  And  what  fa- 
aious  scholar  is  dictating  the  Latin  letters  of  the  Republic — ■ 
what  fiery  philosopher  is  lecturing  on  Dante  in  the  Duomo, 
and  going  home  to  write  bitter  invectives  against  the  father 
and  mother  of  the  bad  critic  who  may  have  found  fault  with 
his  classical  spelling?  Are  our  wiser  heads  leaning  towards 
alliance  with  the  Pope  and  the  Regno^  or  are  they  rather 
inclining  their  ears  to  the  orators  of  France  and  Milan  ? 

"There  is  knowledge  of  these  things  to  be  had  in  the 
streets  below,  on  the  beloved  Marmi  in  front  of  the  churches, 
and  under  the  sheltering  Loggie,  where  surely  our  citizens 
have  still  their  gossips  and  debates,  their  bitter  and  merry 
jests  as  of  old.  For  are  not  the  well-remembered  buildings 
all  there?  The  changes  have  not  been  so  great  in  those  un- 
counted years.  I  will  go  down  and  hear — I  Avill  tread  the  fa- 
miliar pavement,  and  hear  once  again  the  speech  of  Floren- 
tines." 

Go  not  down,  good  Spirit !  for  the  changes  are  great,  and 
the  speech  of  Florentines  would  sound  as  a  riddle  in  your 
ears.  Or,  if  you  go,  mingle  with  no  politicians  on  the  Marmi 
or  elsewhere ;  ask  no  questions  about  trade  in  the  Calimara ; 
confuse  yourself  Avith  no  inquiries  into  scholarship,  oflicial  or 
monastic.  Only  look  at  the  sunlight  and  shadows  on  the 
grand  walls  that  were  built  solidly,  and  have  endured  in  their 
grandeur;  look  at  the  faces  of  the  little  children,  making  an- 
other sunlight  amidst  the  shadows  of  age  ;  look,  if  you  Avill, 
into  the  churches,  and  hear  the  same  chants,  see  the  same  im- 
ages as  of  old — the  images  of  willing  anguish  for  a  great  end, 

*  The  name  giren  to  Naples  by  way  of  distinction  among  the  Italian 
States. 


1 8  KOMOLA. 

of  beneficent  love  and  ascentling  glory ;  see  upturned  living 
faces  and  lips  moving  to  the  old  ])rayers  for  liclp.  Tlieso 
tilings  have  iiot  clianged.  Tlie  suiiliglit  and  sliadows  bring 
their  old  beauty  and  waken  the  old  heart-strains  at  morning, 
noon,  and  eventide;  the  little  children  are  still  thi^  symbol  of 
the  eternal  marriage  between  love  and  duty;  and  men  still 
yearn  for  the  reign  of  j^eace  and  righteousness — still  own  tJiai 
life  to  be  the  highest  which  is  a  conscious  voluutary  sacritice. 
For  the  Pope  Augelico  is  not  come  yet. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  SmrWRECKED  STEANGEE. 


The  Loggia  de'  Cerchi  stood  in  the  heart  of  old  Florence, 
■within  a  labyrinth  of  narrow  streets  behind  the  Badia,  now 
rarely  threaded  by  the  stranger,  unless  in  a  dubious  search  for 
a  certain  severely-simple  door-place,  bearing  this  inscription : 

QUI  NACQUE  IL  DIVING  POETA. 

To  the  ear  of  Dante  the  same  streets  rang  with  the  shout  and 
clash  of  tierce  battle  between  rival  families ;  but  in  the  fif- 
teenth centui-y  they  were  only  noisy  with  the  unhistoi'ical 
quarrels  and  broad  jests  of  wool-carders  in  the  cloth-produc- 
ing quarters  of  San  ]Martino  and  Garbo. 

lender  this  loggia,  in  the  early  morning  of  the  9th  of  A]uil, 
1492,  two  men  had  their  eyes  fixed  on  each  other:  one  waa 
stooping  sliglifly,  and  looking  downward  with  the  scrutiny  of 
curiosity;  the  other,  lying  on  the  pavement,  was  looking  up- 
ward with  the  startled  gaze  of  a  suddenly  awakened  dreamer. 

The  standing  figure  was  the  first  to  sjieak.  lie  was  a  gray- 
haired,  broad-shouldered  man,  of  the  type  "which,  in  Tuscan 
j)]irase,  is  moulded  with  the  fist  and  jtolislied  with  the  pick- 
axe; but  the  self  important  gravity  which  liad  written  itself 
out  in  the  deep  lines  about  his  brow  and  mouth  secmcfl  in- 
tended to  correct  any  contemptuous  inferences  from  the  hasty 
workmaiiship  which  Nature  had  bestowed  on  his  exterior. 
lie  had  deposited  a  large  well-filled  bag,  made  of  skins,  on  the 
pavement,  and  before  him  hung  a  peddler's  l)asket,  garnished 
])artly  with  small  woman's-ware,  sucli  as  thread  and  jtins,  and 
partly  with  fragments  of  glass,  which  had  probably  been  taken 
in  exchange  for  tliose  conunodities. 

"  Young  man,"  he  said,  ])ointing  to  a  ring  on  the  finger  of 
the  reclining  figure,  "  when  your  chin  has  got  a  stiffer  crop  ou 


EOMOLA. 


19 


it,  you'll  know  better  than  to  take  your  nap  in  street  corners 
with  a  ring  like  that  on  your  forefinger.  By  the  holy  'vangels ! 
if  it  had  been  any  body  but  me  standing  over  you  tAvo  minutes 
ago — but  Bratti  Ferravecchj  is  not  the  man  to  steal.  The  cat 
couldn't  eat  her  mouse  if  she  didn't  catch  it  alive,  and  Bratti 
couldn't  relish  gain  if  it  had  no  taste  of  a  bargain.  Wliy, 
young  man,  one  San  Giovanni,  three  years  ago,  the  Saint  sent 
a  dead  body  in  my  way — a  blind  beggar,  with  his  cap  well 
lined  with  pieces — but,  if  you'll  believe  me,  my  stomach  turned 
against  the  tcstoni  I'd  never  bargained  for,  till  it  caiue  into  my 
head  that  San  Giovanni  owed  me  the  pieces  for  what  I  spend 
yearly  at  the  Festa :  besides,  I  buried  the  body  and  paid  for  a 
mass — and  so  I  saw  it  was  a  fair  bargain.  But  how  comes  a 
young  man  like  you,  with  the  face  of  Messer  San  Michele,  to 
be  sleeping  on  a  stone  bed  with  the  Avind  for  a  curtain  ?" 

The  deep  guttural  sounds  of  the  speaker  were  scarcely  in- 
telligible to  the  ncAvly-waked,  bewildered  listener,  but  he  un- 
derstood the  action  of  pointing  to  his  ring :  he  looked  down 
at  it,  and,  Avith  a  half-automatic  obedience  to  the  warning,  took 
it  off  and  thrust  it  within  his  doublet,  rising  at  the  same  time 
and  stretching  himself. 

"Your  tunic  and  hose  match  ill  with  that  jewel,  young 


20  HOMOLA. 

man,"  said  Bratti,  dcliberatoly.  "  Any  body  might  say  the 
saints  had  sent  yon  :i  dead  body  ;  but  if  you  took  the  jewels, 
I  hoj)e  you  buried  him — and  you  can  afford  a  mass  or  two  for 
him  into  the  bargain.'" 

Sometliing  Uke  a  painfid  thrill  appeared  to  dart  through  the 
frame  of  the  listener,  and  arrest  the  careless  stretching  of  his 
arms  and  chest.  For  an  instant  he  turned  on  Jiratti  with  a 
sharp  frown  ;  but  he  immediately  recovered  an  air  of  indiffer- 
ence, took  off  the  red  Levantine  caj)  which  hung  like  a  great 
purse  over  his  left  ear,  j>ushed  back  his  long  dark-brown  curls, 
and  u'lancinir  at  his  divss,  saiil,  smiiinirlv, 

"  You  speak  truth,  friend  :  my  garments  are  as  ■weather- 
stained  as  an  old  sail,  and  they  are  not  ohl  either,  only,  like  an 
old  sail,  they  have  had  a  sprinkling  of  the  sea  as  well  as  the 
rain.  The  fact  is,  I'm  a  strajiger  in  Florence,  and  when  I  camo 
in  foot-sore  last  night  I  preferred  ilinging  myself  in  a  corner 
of  this  hospitable  )»orch  to  hunting  any  longer  for  a  chance 
hostelry,  wliich  might  turn  out  to  be  a  nest  of  blood-suckers 
of  more  sorts  than  one." 

"  A  stranger  in  good  sooth,"  said  Bratti,  "  for  the  words 
come  all  melting  out  of  your  throat,  so  that  a  Christian  and  a 
Florentine  can't  tell  a  liook  from  a  hanfjer.  liut  vou'rc  not 
from  Genoa  ?  More  likely  from  Venice,  by  the  cut  of  your 
clothes?" 

"  At  this  present  moment,''  said  the  stranger,  smiling,  "  it 
is  of  less  impoi'tance  where  I  come  from  tlian  where  I  can 
go  to  for  a  mouthful  of  l)reakfast.  This  city  of  yours  turns 
a  grim  look  on  me  just  here:  can  you  show  me  the  way 
to  a  more  lively  quarter,  where  I  can  get  a  meal  and  a  lodg" 

?" 

"  That  I  can,"  said  Bratti,  "  and  it  is  your  good  f<)rtin)e, 
young  man,  that  I  have  ha])])ened  to  be  walking  in  froro 
liovezzano  this  morning,  and  turned  out  of  my  way  to  Mercato 
Vecchio  to  say  an  Ave  at  the  Badia.  That,  I  say,  is  your  good 
fortune.  But  it  remains  to  be  seen  what  is  my  profit  in  the 
matter.  Nothing  for  nothing,  young  man.  If  I  show  you  the 
way  to  Mercato  Vecchio,  you'll  swear  by  yotn-  patron  saint  to 
Id  me  have  the  l)idding  for  that  stained  suit  of  yours  when 
you  set  uj)  a  better — as  doiibtless  you  will." 

"  Agreed,  by  San  Niccolo,"  said' the  other,  laughing.  "  Hut 
now  let  us  set  off  to  this  said  Mercato,  for  I  promise  you  I  feel 
the  want  of  a  better  lining  to  this  doublet  of  mine  which  you 
are  coveting." 

"Coveting?  Nay,"  said  Bratti,  heaving  his  bag  on  his 
back  and  setting  out.  But  \w  broke  off  in  his  re]ily,  and  burst 
out  in  loud,  harsh  tones,  not  unlike  the  creaking  and  grating 


mg  r 


ROMOLA.  21 

of  a  cart-wheel:  '•'■Chi  ahharatta — haratta — VraUa — chi  ah- 
baratta  cenci  e  vetri — Vrattaferri  vecchj  ?*■ 

"  It's  worth  but  little,"  he  said  presently,  relapsing  into  his 
conversational  tone.  "  Hose  and  altogether,  your  clotlies  ai'e 
worth  but  little.  Still,  if  you've  a  mind  to  set  yourself  up  with 
a  lute  worth  more  than  any  new  one,  or  with  a  sword  that's 
been  worn  by  a  Ridolli,  or  with  a  paternoster  of  the  best  mode, 
1 1  could  let  you  have  a  great  bargain  by  making  an  allowance 
jfor  the  clothes  ;  for,  simple  as  I  stand  here  {coslfatto  come  tu 
mi  vedi),  I've  got  the  best-furnished  shop  in  the  Ferravecchj, 
and  it's  close  by  the  Mercato.  The  Virgin  be  praised  !  it's  not  a 
pumpkin  I  carry  on  my  shoulders.  But  I  don't  stay  caged  in 
my  shop  all  day :  I've  got  a  wife  and  a  raven  to  stay  at  home 
and  mind  the  stock.  Chi  ahharatta — haratta — Vratta  ?  . . . . 
And  now,  young  man,  where  do  you  come  from,  and  what's 
your  business  in  Florence  ?" 

"  I  thought  you  liked  nothing  that  came  to  you  without  a 
bargain,"  said  the  stranger.  "  You've  offered  me  nothing  yet 
in  exchange  for  that  information." 

"  Well,  well ;  a  Florentine  doesn't  mind  bidding  a  fair  price 
for  news  ;  it  stays  the  stomach  a  little,  though  he  may  win  no 
hose  by  it.  If  I  take  you  to  the  prettiest  damsel  in  the  Merca- 
to to  get  a  cup  of  milk — that  will  be  a  fair  bargain." 

"  Nay  ;  I  can  find  her  myself  if  she  be  really  in  the  Mercato  ; 
for  pretty  heads  are  apt  to  look  forth  of  doors  and  Avindows. 
No,  no.  Besides,  a  sharp  trader  like  you  ought  to  know  that 
he  who  bids  for  nuts  and  news  may  chance  to  find  them 
hollow." 

'*  Ah  !  young  man,"  said  Bratti,  witli  a  side-way  glance  of 
some  admiration,  "  you  were  not  born  of  a  Sunday — the  salt 
shops  were  open  when  you  came  into  the  world.  You're  not 
a  Hebrew,  eh  ? — come  from  Spain  or  Naples,  eh  ?  Let  me  tell 
you  the  Fi-ati  Minori  are  trying  to  make  Florence  as  hot  as 
Spain  for  those  dogs  of  hell  that  want  to  get  all  the  profits  of 
usury  to  themselves  and  leave  none  for  Christians  ;  and  Avhen 
you  Avalk  the  Calimara  with  a  piece  of  yellow  cloth  in  your  caj), 
it  will  spoil  your  beauty  more  than  a  sword-cut  across  that 
\smooth  olive  cheek  of  yours. — Ahharatta,  haratta — chi  abba- 
\ritta  ? — I  tell  you,  young  man,  gray  cloth  is  against  yellow 
'i?loth;  and  there's  as  much  gray  cloth  in  Florence  as  would 
make  a  gown  and  cowl  for  the  Duomo,  and  there's  not  so  much 
yellow  cloth  as  would  make  hose  for  Saint  Christopher — blessed 
be  his  name,  and  send  me  a  sight  of  him  this  day  ! — Ahharatta, 
haratta,  Wratta — chi  ahharatta  f'' 

"  All  that  is  very  amusing  information  you  are  parting  with 
*  ' '  Who  wants  to  exchange  rags,  broken  glass,  or  old  iron  ?" 


22  iiOMOLA. 

for  nothing,"  siiil  tlio  stranger,  rather  scornfully  ;  "  but  it  hap. 
jH.'ns  not  to  concern  me.     I  am  no  Hebrew." 

"  See,  now  !''  said  Bratti,  triumphantly  ;  "  I've  made  a  good 
bargain  with  mere  words.  I've  made  you  tell  me  something, 
young  man,  though  you're  as  hard  to  hold  as  a  lamprey.  San 
(riovanni  be  praised!  a  blin<l  Florentine  is  a  match  for  two 
one-eyed  men.     liut  here  we  are  in  Mercato." 

They  had  now  emerged  from  tlie  narrow  streets  into  a 
broad  j)iazza,  known  t()  the  elder  Florentine  writers  as  theMei'- 
cato  \'ecchio,  or  the  Old  ^larket.  This  ]>iazza,  though  it  had 
been  the  scene  of  a  provision  market  from  time  innncmorial, 
and  may  perhaps,  says  fond  imagination,  be  the  very  spot  to 
which  the  Fcsulcan  ancestors  of  the  Florentines  descended 
from  their  high  fastness  to  trafhc  with  the  rustic  population 
of  the  valley,  had  not  been  shunned  as  a  place  of  residence  by 
Florentine  wealth.  In  the  early  decades  of  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury, which  was  now  near  its  end,  the  ^Icdici  and  other  pow- 
erful families  of  the  popolani  f/rassi,  or  connnercial  nobility, 
had  their  houses  there,  not,  perhaps,  finding  their  ears  much 
offended  by  the  loud  roar  of  mingled  dialects,  or  their  eyes 
much  shocked  Ijy  the  butchers'  stalls,  which  the  old  poet  An- 
tonio Pucci  accounts  a  chief  glory,  or  dif/niUi,  of  a  market 
that,  in  his  esteem,  eclipsed  the  markets  of  all  the  earth  be- 
sides. ]>ut  the  glory  of  mutton  an<l  veal  (well  attested  to  be 
the  flesh  of  the  right  animals  ;  for  were  not  the  skins,  with 
the  heads  attached,  duly  displayed,  according  to  the  decree  of 
the  Signoria?)  mms  just  now  wanting  to  the  IMercato,  the  time 
of  Lent  not  being  yet  over.  The  jtroud  corporation,  or  "  Art," 
of  butchers  was  in  abeyance,  and  it  was  the  great  harvest-time 
of  the  market-gardeners,  the  cheese-mongers,  the  venders  of 
macaroni,  corn,  eggs,  milk,  and  dried  fruits  :  a  change  which 
•was  apt  to  make  tlie  women's  voices  predominant  in  the  chorus. 
But  in  all  seasons  there  was  the  experimental  ringing  of  pots 
and  ])ans,  the  chinking  of  the  money-changers,  the  tempting 
offers  of  cheapness  at  the  old-clothes  stalls,  the  challenges  of 
the  dicers,  the  vaunting  of  new  linens  and  woollens,  of  excel- 
lent wooden-ware,  kettles,  and  frying-]ians ;  there  was  the 
choking  of  the  narrow  inlets  with  mules  and  carts,  together 
with  much  imcoinplimentary  remonstrance  in  terms  remark- 
ably identical  with  the  insults  in  use  by  the  gentler  sex  of  tho 
present  «lay,  under  the  same  embrowning  and  heating  circiun- 
stances.  J.,adies  and  gentlemen  who  came  to  market  looked 
on  at  a  larger  amount  of  amateur  fighting  than  couM  easily  be 
seen  in  these  later  times,  and  beheld  more  revolting  rags,  beg- 
gary, and  rascaldom  than  modern  householders  could  well 
picture  to  themselves.     A;»  the  day  wore  on,  the  hideous  drama 


ROMOLA.  23 

of  the  gaming-house  might  be  seen  here  by  any  chance  open- 
air  spectator — the  quivering  eagerness,  the  blank  despair,  the 
sobs,  the  blasphemy,  and  the  blows : 

"  E  vedesi  clii  perde  con  gran  soffi, 
E  bestemmiar  colla  mano  alia  mascella, 
E  ricever  e  dar  dimolti  ingofii." 

But  Still  there  was  the  relief  of  prettier  sights:  there  were 
brood-rabbits,  not  less  innocent  and  astonished  than  those  of 
our  own  period;  there  were  doves  and  singing-birds  to  be 
bought  as  presents  for  the  children ;  there  were  even  kittens 
for  sale,  and  here  and  there  a  handsome  gattuccio,  or  "  Tom," 
with  the  highest  character  for  mousing;  and, better  than  all, 
there  were  young,  softly  rounded  cheeks  and  bright  eyes,  fresh- 
ened by  the  start  from  the  far-off  castello*  at  daybreak,  not  to 
speak  of  older  faces  with  the  unfading  charm  of  honest  good- 
will in  them — such  as  are  never  quite  wanting  in  scenes  of 
human  industry.  And  high  on  a  pillar  in  the  centre  of  the 
place — a  venerable  pillar,  fetched  from  the  church  of  San  Gio- 
vanni— stood  Donatello's  stone  statue  of  Plenty,  with  a  fount- 
ain near  it,  where,  says  old  Pucci,  the  good  wives  of  the  mar- 
ket freshened  their  utensils,  and  their  throats  also — not  because 
they  were  ixnable  to  buy  wine,  but  because  they  wished  to  save 
the  money  for  their  husbands — "J/a  ^:>e'  mariti  voglion  ri- 
sparmiareP 

But  on  this  particular  morning  a  sudden  change  seemed  to 
liave  come  over  the  face  of  the  market.  The  deschi,  or  stalls, 
were  indeed  partly  dressed  Avith  their  vai'ious  commodities,  and 
already  there  were  purchasers  assembled,  on  the  alert  to  secure 
the  finest,  freshest  vegetables  and  tlie  most  unexceptionable 
butter.  But  when  Bratti  and  his  companion  entered  the  pi- 
azza it  appeared  that  some  common  preoccupation  had  for  the 
moment  distracted  the  attention  both  of  buyers  and  sellers 
from  their  proper  business.  Most  of  the  traders  had  turned 
their  backs  on  their  goods,  and  had  joined  the  knots  of  talkers 
who  were  ccmcentrating  themselves  at  different  points  in  the 
piazza.  A  vender  of  old  clothes,  in  the  act  of  hanging  out  a 
pair  of  long  hose,  had  distractedly  hung  them  round  his  neck 
in  his  eagerness  to  join  the  nearest  group  ;  an  oratorical  cheese- 
monger, with  a  piece  of  cheese  in  one  hand  and  a  knife  in  the 
other,  was  incautiously  making  notes  of  his  emphatic  pauses 
on  that  excellent  specimen  of  marzoUno  ;  and  elderly  market- 
women,  with  their  egg-baskets  in  a  dangerously  oblique  posi- 
tion, contributed  a  wailing  fugue  of  invocation. 

In  this  general  distraction,  the  Florentine  boys,  who  were 

♦  Walled  village. 


24  ROMOLA. 

never  wanting  in  any  street  scene,  and  were  of  an  especially 
mischievous  sort — as  who  should  say,  very  sour  crabs  indeed 
— saw  a  L,nvat  (>|>i)ortunity.  Some  math'  a  rush  at  thi-  nuts 
ami  drit'd  lii^'s,  others  j)retY'rr('d  tlie  farinaceous  delicacies  at 
the  cooked  j)rovision  stalls — delicacies  to  which  certain  four- 
footed  dogs  also,  who  had  learned  to  take  kindly  to  Lenten 
fare,  apjilied  a  discriminating  nostril,  and  then  disajtjiL'ared 
with  much  rajudity  imdcr  the  nearest  shelter;  while  the  mules, 
not  without  some  kicking  and  jtlunging  among  impeding  has- 
k(.'ts,  were  stretching  their  muzzles  towards  the  aromatic  green- 
meat. 

"  Diavolo  !"  said  Bratti,  as  lie  and  his  companion  came,  quite 
unnoticed,  upon  the  noisy  scene ;  "  the  Mercato  is  gone  as  mad 
as  if  the  most  Holy  Father  had  excommunicated  us  again.  I 
must  know  what  this  is.  But  never  fear  :  it  seems  a  thousand 
years  to  you  till  you  see  the  pretty  Tessa  and  get  your  cu]>of 
milk ;  but  keep  hold  of  me,  and  I'll  huM  to  my  bargain.  Ke- 
membcr,  Tm  to  have  the  first  bid  for  your  suit,  specially  for  the 
hose,  which,  with  all  their  stains,  are  the  best  panno  di  (f<irbo 
— as  good  as  ruined,  though,  with  mud  and  weather  stains.  ' 

"  Ola,  i\Ionna  Trecca,"  Bratti  ]u-oceeded,  turning  towards 
an  old  woman  on  the  outside  of  the  nearest  group,  who  for  the 
moment  has  suspended  her  wail  to  listen,  and  shouting  close  in 
her  e  ir,  "  Here  are  the  mules  upsetting  all  your  bunches  of 
parsley :  is  the  world  couiing  to  an  end,  then  V" 

"  Monna  Trecca"  (equivalent  to  "Dame  Greengrocer") 
turned  round  at  this  unexpected  trumpeting  in  her  right  ear 
with  a  half-fierce,  half-bewildere(l  look,  first  at  the  speaker, 
then  at  her  disarranged  commodities,  and  then  at  the  speaker 
again. 

"  A  bad  Easter  and  a  bad  year  to  you,  and  may  you  die  l>y 
tlie  sword  I"  she  burst  out,  rushing  towards  her  stall,  but  di- 
recting this  first  volley  of  her  wrath  against  Bratti,  who,  with 
out  heeding  the  malediction,  quietly  slipj)ed  into  her  place, 
within  hearing  of  the  narrative  which  had  been  absorbing  her 
attention,  making  a  sign  at  the  same  time  to  the  young  stranger 
to  keep  near  him. 

"  I  tell  you  I  saw  it  myself,"  said  a  fat  man,  with  a  bur.c  h 
,of  ncMly-purchased  leeks  in  his  hand.  "  I  was  in  Santa  Maria 
Novella,  and  saw  it  myself.  The  Moman  started  up  and  threw 
out  her  arms,  and  cried  out  and  said  she  saw  a  big  bull  with 
fierv  horns  coming  down  on  the  church  to  crush  it.  I  saw  it 
myself.'^ 

"  Saw  what,  Goro  ?"  said  a  man  of  slim  figure,  whose  eye 
twinkled  rather  roguishly.  He  wore  a  close  jerkin,  a  skull- 
cap lodged  carelessly  over  his  left  car  as  if  it  had  fallen  there 


aOMOLA.  25 

by  chance,  a  delicate  linen  apron  tucked  up  on  one  side,  and  a 
razor  stuck  in  bis  belt.     "  Saw  the  bull,  or  only  the  woman?" 

"  Why,  the  woman,  to  be  sure ;  but  it's  all  one,  mi  pare  : 
it  doesn't  alter  the  meaning — va  /"  answered  the  fat  man,  with 
some  contempt. 

"  Meaning  ?  no,  no ;  that's  clear  enough,"  said  several  voices 
at  once,  and  then  followed  a  confusion  of  tongues,  in  which 
"  Light  shooting  over  San  Lorenzo  for  three  nights  together  "  , 
— "  Thunder  in  the  clear  starlight  " — "  Lantern  of  the  Duomo 
struck  with  the  sword  of  St.  Michael  "  —  ''Palle  "*  —  All 
smashed  " — ^'I^asso  .^"- — "  Lions  tearing  each  other  to  pieces  " 
— ''  Ah  !  and  they  might  well " — ^^Jioto\  caduto  in  Scmtissi- 
nia  NunziataJ'''' — "  Died  like  the  best  of  Christians  " — "  God 
will  have  pardoned  him  " — Avere  often  i-epeated  phrases,  which 
shot  across  each  other  like  storm-driven  hailstones,  eacli  speaker 
feeling  rather  the  necessity  of  utterance  than  of  finding  a  lis- 
tener. Perhaps  the  only  silent  membei's  of  the  group  were 
Bratti,  who,  as  a  new-comer,  was  busy  in  mentally  piecing  to- 
gether the  flying  fragments  of  information ;  the  man  of  the 
razor  ;  and  a  thin-lipped,  eager-looking  personage  in  specta- 
cles, wearing  a  pen-and-ink  case  at  his  belt. 

"  Ebbtne,  Nello,"  said  Bratti,  skirting  the  group  till  he  was 
within  hearing  of  tlie  barber.  "  V;  appears  the  Magnifico  is 
dead — rest  his  soul ! — and  the  price  of  wax  (\ill  rise  ?" 

"  Evea  as  you  sa  r,"  answered  Nello  ;  and  then  added,  with 
an  air  of  extra  gravity,  but  with  marvellous  rapidity,  "  and  his 
waxen  image  in  the  Nunziata  fell  at  the  same  moment,  they 
say  ;  or  at  some  other  time,  whenever  it  pleases  the  Frati  Ser- 
viti,  who  know  best.  And  several  cows  and  women  have  had 
still-born  calves  this  Quaresima;  and  for  the  bad  eggs  that 
have  been  broken  since  the  carnival,  nobody  has  counted  them  ! 
Ah !  a  great  man — a  great  politician — a  greater  poet  than 
Dante.  And  yet  the  cupola  didn't  fall — only  the  lantern.  Che 
miracolo  P'' 

A  sharp  and  lengthened  "  Pst !"  was  suddenly  heard  darting 
across  the  pelting  storm  of  gutturals.  It  came  from  the  pale 
man  in  spectacles,  and  had  the  effect  he  intended  ;  for  the 
noise  ceased,  and  all  eyes  in  the  group  were  fixed  on  him  with 
a  look  of  expectation. 

"  'Tis  well  said  you  Florentines  are  blind,"  he  began,  in  an 
mcisive,  high  voice.  *^  It  appears  to  me  you  need  nothing  but 
u  diet  of  hay  to  make  cattle  of  you.     What !  do  you  think  the 

*  Arms  of  the  Medici. 

t  A  votive  image  of  Lorenzo,  in  wax,  hung  np  in  tlio  Church  of  the  An- 
nunziata,  supposed  to  liave  fallen  at  the  time  of  his  death.  Bolo  is  jx'pular 
Tuscan  for  Voto, 

o 


'JG  KOMOLA. 

fU'atli  of  Lorenzo  is  the  scourge  God  has  prepared  for  Florence? 
(Ji>!  you  are  sparrows  chatting  praise  over  the  dead  hawk. 
What  !  a  man  who  was  trying  to  slip  a  noose  over  ev».-ry  ncek 
in  the  Republic  that  he  might  tighten  it  at  his  pleasure !  You 
likf  that;  you  like  to  have  the  election  of  your  magistrates 
turned  into  closet-work,  and  no  man  to  use  the  rights  of  a 
citi/i'ii  unless  he  is  a  Medicean.  That  is  >vhat  is  meant  by 
.(pjalification  now:  netto  di  specchio*  no  longer  means  a  man 
who  j)ays  his  dues  to  the  Kepublic:  it  means  a  man  who'll 
wink  at  robbery  of  the  jx'ojtle's  money — at  robbery  of  their 
daughters'  dowries  ;  who'll  play  the  chamberer  and  the  phi- 
losojiher  by  turns — listen  to  bawdy  songs  at  the  Carnival,  and 
cry  '  Hellisimo  !' — and  listen  to  sacred  lauds,  and  cry  again 
'  Hellisimo  I'  ]>ut  this  is  what  you  love  :  you  grumlile  and 
raise  a  riot  over  your  quattrini  hiancJii''''  (white  farthings), 
"  but  you  take  no  notice  when  the  ]»ublic  treasury  has  got  a 
hole  in  the  bottom  for  the  gold  to  run  into  Lorenzo's  drains. 
You  like  to  pay  for  stajfieri  to  walk  before  and  behind  one  of 
your  citizens,  that  he  may  be  affable  and  condescending  to 
you.  '  See  what  a  tall  Pisan  we  kee])/  say  you,  '  to  march  be- 
fore him  with  the  drawn  sword  Hashing  in  our  eves  ;  and  yet 
Lorenzo  smiles  at  us.  AVhat  goodness  !'  And  vou  think  the 
death  of  a  man  who  Avoidd  soon  have  saildled  and  bridled  you 
as  the  Sforza  has  saddled  and  bridled  jNlilan — you  think  his 
death  is  the  scourge  God  is  warning  you  of  by  portents.  I 
tell  you  there  is  another  sort  of  scourge  in  the  air." 

"  Nay,  nay,  Ser  Cioni,  keep  astride  your  j^olitics,  and  never 
mount  your  })rophecy  ;  polities  is  the  better  liorse,"  said  Nello. 
"  JJut  if  you  talk  of  jiortents,  what  portent  can  be  greater  than 
a  pious  notary '?     lialaam's  ass  was  nothing  to  it." 

"Ay,  but  a  notary  out  of  work,  with  his  ink-bottle  <lry," 
fiaid  another  by-stander,  very  much  out  at  elboMS.  "  Better 
'Jon  a  cowl  at  once,  Ser  Cioni ;  every  body  will  believe  in 
your  fasting." 

The  notary  turned  and  left  the  group  with  a  look  of  indig- 
nant contempt,  disclosing,  as  lie  did. so,  the  sallow  but  mild 
face  of  a  slK>rt  man  who  ha<l  been  standing  behind  him,  and 
whose  bent  shoulders  told  of  some  sedentary  occupation. 

"  l>y  San  Giovanni,  though,"  said  the  fat  j)urchaser  of  leeks, 
with  the  air  of  a  person  rather  shaken  in  his  theories,  "I'm 
not  sure  there  isn't  some  truth  in  what  Ser  ('ioni  says.  F'or 
I  know  I've  good  reason  to  iind  fault  with  the  (piattrini  bian- 
chi  myself.  (Jrumble,  did  he  say?  Suffocati(jn  !  I  sliould 
think  we  do  grumble  ;  and,  let  any  body  say  the  word,  I'll  turn 

*  Tlie  jilirase  used  to  exi)iess  tlie  ii])scn(e  of  ilisqimlifuation,  i.  e.,  the  not 
being  cnlerecl  ns  a  debtor  in  tbc  jdiblir  book  (sjiecchio). 


BOMOLA.  27 

out  m  piasea  with  the  readiest,  sooner  than  have  our  money 
altered  in  our  hands  as  if  the  magistracy  were  so  many  necro- 
mancers. And  it's  true  Lorenzo  might  have  hindered  such 
work  if  he  would — and  for  the  bull  with  the  flaming  horns, 
why,  as  Ser  Cioni  says,  there  may  be  many  meanings  to  it,  for 
the  matter  of  that ;  it  may  have  more  to  do  Avith  the  taxes 
than  we  tliink.  For  Mhen  God  above  sends  a  sign, it's  not  to 
be  supposed  he'd  have  only  one  meaning." 

"Spoken  like  an  oracle,  Goro  !"  said  the  barber.  ""Why, 
when  we  poor  mortals  can  pack  two  or  three  meanings  into 
one  sentence,  it  were  mere  blasphemy  not  to  believe  that  your 
miraculous  bull  means  every  thing  that  any  man  in  Florence 
likes  it  to  mean." 

"  Thou  art  pleased  to  scoff,  Xglb,"  said  the  sallow,  round- 
shouldered  man,  no  longer  eclipsed  by  the  notary,  "  but  it  is 
not  the  less  true  that  every  revelation,  whether  by  visions, 
dreams,  portents,  or  the  Avritten  word,  has  many  meanings, 
which  it  is  given  to  the  illuminated  only  to  unfold." 

"  Assuredly,"  answered  Xello.  "Haven't  I  been  to  hear 
the  Frate  in  San  Lorenzo '?  But  then,  I've  been  to  hear  Fra 
Menico  da  Ponzo  in  the  Duomo  too ;  and  according  to  him, 
your  Fra  Girolamo,  with  his  visions  and  interpretations,  is  run- 
ning after  the  wind  of  Mongibello,  and  those  who  follow  liim 
are  like  to  have  the  fate  of  certain  swine  that  ran  headlong 
into  the  sea — or  some  hotter  place.  With  San  Domenico  roar- 
ing ^  vero  in  one  ear,  and  San  Francisco  screaming  e  falso  in 
the  other,  what  is  a  poor  barl^er  to  do — unless  he  were  illumi- 
nated ?  But  it's  plain  our  Goro  here  is  beginning  to  be  illumi- 
nated, for  he  already  sees  that  the  bull  with  the  flaming  horns 
means  first  himself,  and,  secondly,  all  the  other  aggrieved  tax- 
payers of  Florence,  who  are  determined  to  gore  the  magistracy 
on  the  first  opportunity." 

"  Goro  is  a  fool !"  said  a  bass  voice,  with  a  note  that  drop- 
ped like  the  sound  of  a  great  bell  in  the  midst  of  much  tink- 
ling. "  Let  him  carry  home  his  leeks  and  shake  his  flanks 
over  his  wool-beating.  He'll  mend  matters  more  that  way 
'than  by  showing  his  tun-shaped  body  in  ^??rt2z<7,  as  if  every 
body  might  measure  his  grievances  by  the  size  of  his  paunch. 
The  gravezze  (burdens,  i.  e.,  taxes)  that  harm  him  most  are  his 
heavy  carcass  and  his  idleness." 

The  speaker  had  joined  the  group  only  in  time  to  hear  the 
conclusion  of  Xello's  speech,  but  he  was  one  of  those  figures  for 
whom  all  the  world  instinctively  makes  way,  as  it  would  for 
a  battering-ram.  He  was  not  much  above  the  middle  height, 
but  the  imi^ression  of  enormous  force  which  was  conveyed  by 
his  capacious  chest  and  brawny  arms  bared  to  the  shoulder 


28  ROMOLA, 

was  deepened  by  the  keen  sense  and  (juiot  resolution  cxnres* 
cd  in  liis  cjlance  ami  in  every  furrow  of  his  cheek  and  brow. 
Ill'  had  ofti'ii  been  an  unconscious  niodi-l  to  Donienico  (ihir- 
landajo,  when  that  j^reat  painter  was  inakint;  the  walls  of  the 
churches  reflect  the  life  of  Florence,  and  translating  pale  aerial 
traditions  into  the  deep  color  and  strong  lines  of  the  faces  lie 
knew.  Tlic  naturally  dark  tint  of  his  skin  was  additionally 
bronzed  by  the  sa.ne  powdery  deposit  that  gave  a  j^olished 
black  surface  to  his  leathern  apron — a  deposit  which  habit 
liad  probably  made  a  necessary  condition  of  ]ierfect  ease,  for 
it  was  not  washed  off  witli  punctilious  regularity. 

Goro  turned  his  fat  cheek  and  glassy  eye  on  the  frank 
speaker  with  a  look  of  dei)recation  rather  than  of  reseJitment. 

"  Why,  Niccolo,'"  he  said,  in  an  injured  tone,  "  Fve  heard 
you  sing  to  another  tune  than  that  often  enough,  when  you've 
been  laying  down  the  law  at  San  Gallo  on  a  festa.  I've  heard 
you  say  yourself  that  a  man  wasn't  a  mill-wheel,  to  be  on  the 
grind,  grind,  as  long  as  he  was  driven,  and  then  stick  in  his 
place  without  stirring  when  the  water  was  low.  And  you're  as 
fond  of  your  vote  as  any  man  in  Florence — ay,  and  I've  heard 
you  say,  if  Lorenzo — " 

''  Yes,  yes,"  said  Niccolo.  "  Don't  you  be  bringing  up  my 
speeches  again  after  you've  swallowed  them,  and  handing  them 
about  as  if  they  were  none  the  worse.  I  vote  and  I  speak  when 
there's  any  use  in  it:  if  there's  hot  metal  on  the  anvil  1  lose  no 
time  before  I  strike;  but  I  don't  spend  good  lK)urs  in  tinkling 
on  cold  iron,  or  in  stantling  on  the  pavement  as  thou  dost, 
Goro,  with  snout  U|)ward,  like  a  ]>ig  under  an  oak-tree.  And 
as  for  Lorenzo — who's  dead  an<l  gone  before  his  time — he  was 
a  man  who  had  an  eye  for  curious  iron  work;  and  if  any  body 
says  he  wanted  to  make  himself  a  tyrant,  I  say, '  Sia  ;  I'll  not 
deny  which  way  the  m  ind  blows  when  every  man  can  see  the 
weathercock.'  But  that  onlv  means  that  J^orenzo  was  a  crest- 
ed  hawk,  and  there  are  plenty  of  hawks  without  crests  whose 
claws  and  beaks  are  as  good  for  tearing.  Though  if  there  was 
any  chance  of  a  real  reform,  so  that  Maizocco*  might  shake  his 
mane  and  roar  again,  instead  of  dipping  his  head  to  lick  the 
feet  of  any  body  that  -will  mount  and  ride  him,  I'd  strike  a 
good  blow  for  it." 

"  And  that  reform  is  not  far  off,  Niccolo,"  said  the  sallo\r, 
mild-faced  man,  seizing  his  opportunity  like  a  missionary 
among  the  too  light-minded  heathens;  "for  a  time  of  tribula- 
tion is  coming,  and  the  scourge  is  at  hand.  Ami  when  the 
Church  is  purged  of  cardinals  and  prelates  who  traffic  in  her 
inheritance  that  their  hands  may  be  full  to  pay  the  price  of 
*  The  ttonc  Lion,  emblem  of  the  Kepuhlic. 


ROMOLA.  29 

blood,  and  to  satisfy  their  own  lusts,  the  State  will  be  purged 
too — and  Florence  will  be  purged  of  men  who  love  to  see  ava- 
rice and  lechery  under  the  red  hat  and  the  raitre  because  it 
gives  them  the  screen  of  a  more  hellish  vice  than  their  own." 

"  Ay,  as  Goro's  broad  body  would  be  a  screen  for  my  nar- 
row person  in  case  of  missiles,"  said  Nello ;  "  but  if  that  ex- 
cellent screen  happened  to  fall,  I  were  stifled  under  it,  surely 
enough.  That  is  no  bad  image  of  thine,  Xanni — or,  rather  of 
the  Frate's ;  for  I  fancy  there  is  no  room  in  the  small  cup  of 
thy  Tinderstanding  for  any  other  liquor  than  what  he  pours 
into  it." 

"  And  it  were  well  for  thee,  Nello,"  replied  Nanni,  "  if  thou 
couldst  empty  thyself  of  thy  scoffs  and  thy  jests,  and  take  in 
that  liquor  too.  The  warning  is  ringing  in  the  ears  of  all 
men :  and  it's  no  new  story  ;  for  the  Abbot  Joachim  prophe- 
sied of  the  coming  time  three  hundred  years  ago,  and  now 
Fra  Girolamo  has  ffot  the  messaw  afresh.  He  has  seen  it  in 
a  vision,  even  as  the  prophets  of  old  :  he  has  seen  the  sword 
hanging  from  the  sky." 

"Ay,  and  thou  wilt  see  it  thyself,  Xanni,  if  thou  wilt  stare 
npward  long  enough,"  said  Niccolo ;  "  for  that  pitiable  tailor's 
work  of  thine  makes  thy  noddle  so  overhang  thy  legs  that  thy 
eyeballs  can  see  naught  above  the  stitching-board  but  the  roof 
of  thy  own  skull." 

The  honest  tailor  bore  the  jest  without  bitterness,  bent  on 
convincing  his  hearers  of  his  doctrine  rather  than  of  his  dig- 
nity. •  But  Niccolo  gave  him  no  opportunity  for  replying ;  for 
he  turned  away  to  the  ])ursuit  of  his  market  business,  proba- 
bly considering  farther  dialogue  as  a  tinkling  on  cold  iron. 

"JS'^Je/ie,"  said  the  man  with  the  hose  round  his  neck,  who 
had  lately  migrated  from  another  knot  of  talkers,  "  they  are 
safest  who  cross  themselves  and  jest  at  nobody.  Do  you 
know  that  the  Magnifico  sent  for  the  Frate  at  the  last,  and 
couldn't  die  without  his  blessing?" 

"  Was  it  so,  in  truth  ?"  said  several  voices.  "  Yes,  yes — God 
will  have  pardoned  him."  "He  died  like  the  best  of  Chris- 
tians." "  Never  took  his  eyes  from  the  holy  ci'ucifix."  "  And 
the  Frate  will  have  given  him  his  blessing  ?" 

"  Well,  I  know  no  more,"  said  he  of  the  hosen  ;  "  only  Guccio 
there  met  a  staffiere  going  back  to  Careggi,  and  he  told  him 
the  Frate  had  been  sent  for  yesternight,  after  the  Magnifico 
had  confessed  and  had  the  holy  sacraments." 

"  It's  likely  enough  the  Frate  will  tell  the  people  something 
about  it  in  his  sermon  this  morning;  is  it  not  true,  Nanni?" 
said  Goro.     "  What  do  you  think  ?'' 

But  Nanni  had  already  turned  his  back  on  Goro,  and  the 


30  UOMOLA. 

group  was  rapidly  thinnings;  some  bcincf  stirred  by  the  im- 
pulse  to  go  and  hear  "new  tlutiLjs"  from  the  Frate  (*' new 
thini^s"  were  the  nectar  of  Florentines);  others  by  the  sense 
that  it  was  time  to  attend  to  their  private  businyss.  In  this 
general  movement  Bratti  got  close  to  the  barber,  and  said : 

"  XcUo,  you've  a  ready  toni^ue  of  your  own,  and  are  used 
to  worming  secrets  out  of  people  when  you've  once  got  them 
well  lathered,  I  picked  up  a  stranger  this  mori»ing  as  I  was 
coming  in  from  Kovezzano,  and  I  can  spell  liim  out  no  better 
than  I  can  the  letters  on  that  scarf  I  bought  from  the  French 
cavalier.  It  isn't  my  wits  are  at  fault — I  want  no  man  to  help 
me  tell  peas  from  paternosters — but  when  you  come  to  foreign 
fashions  a  fool  may  liappeii  to  know  more  than  a  wise  man." 

"Ay,  thou  hast  the  wisdom  of  ]\Iidas,  who  could  turn  rags 
and  rusty  nails  into  gold,  even  as  thou  dost,"  said  Xello  ;  "  and 
he  had  also  something  of  the  ass  about  him.  But  where  is 
thy  bird  of  strange  plumage?" 

Bratti  was  looking  round  with  an  air  of  disappointment. 

"Diavolo!"  he  said,  with  some  vexation.  "The  bird's 
flown.  It's  true  he  was  hungry  and  I  forgot  him.  But  we 
shall  find  him  in  the  Mercato,  within  scent  of  bread  and  fa- 
vors, I'll  answer  for  him." 

"  Let  us  make  the  round  of  the  Mercato,  then,"  said  Nello. 

"It  isn't  his  feathers  that  ]iuzzlc  me,"  continued  Bratti,  as 
they  pushed  their  way  together.  "There  isn't  nuich  in  the 
way  of  cut  and  doth  on  this  side  the  Holy  Sepulchre  that  can 
puzzle  a  Florentine." 

"  Or  frighten  him  either,"  saiil  Xello,  "  after  he  has  seen  an 
Inglese  or  a  Tedesco." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Bratti,  cordially  ;  "  one  may  never  lose  sight 
of  the  Cupola  and  yet  know  the  world,  I  hope.  Besides,  this 
stranger's  clothes  are  good  Italian  merchandise,  and  the  hose 
he  wears  were  dyed  in  Ognissanti  before  ever  tliey  were  dyed. 
with  salt-water,  as  he  says.     But  the  riddle  about  him  is — " 

Here  Bratti's  ex|)lanation  was  interruptetl  by  some  jostling 
as  they  reached  one  of  the  entrances  of  the  piaz::a,  and  before 
he  could  resume  it  they  had  caught  sight  of  the  enigmatical 
object  they  were  in  search  of. 


ROMOLA.  31 


CHAPTER  II. 

A  BREAKFAST  FOR  LOVE. 

After  Bratti  had  joined  the  knot  of  talkers,  the  young 
stranger,  hopeless  of  learning  what  was  the  cause  of  the  gene- 
ral agitation,  and  not  much  caring  to  knowwhatwas  probably 
of  little  interest  to  any  but  born  Florentines,  soon  became  tired 
of  waiting  for  Bratti's  escort,  and  chose  to  stroll  round  the  pi- 
azza, looking  out  for  some  vender  of  eatables  who  might  hap- 
pen to  have  less  than  the  average  curiosity  about  public  news. 
But,  as  if  at  the  suggestion  of  a  sudden  thought,  he  thrust  his 
Land  into  a  purse  or  wallet  that  hung  at  his  waist,  and  ex- 
plored it  again  and  again  with  a  look  of  frustration. 

"  Not  an  obolus,  by  Jupiter  !"  he  murmured,  in  a  language 
which  was  not  Tuscan  or  even  Italian.  "  I  thought  I  had  one 
poor  piece  left.     I  must  get  my  breakfast  for  love,  then  !" 

He  had  not  gone  many  steps  farther  before  it  seemed  likely 
that  he  had  found  a  quarter  of  the  market  where  that  medium 
of  exchange  might  not  be  rejected.       , 

In  a  corner,  away  from  any  group  of  talkers,  two  mules 
were  standing,  well  adorned  with  red  tassels  and  collars.  One 
of  them  carried  wooden  milk-vessels,  the  other  a  pair  of  pan- 
niers filled  with  herbs  and  salads.  Resting  her  elbow  on  the 
neck  of  the  mule  that  carried  the  milk  there  leaned  a  young 
girl,  apparently  not  more  than  sixteen,  Avith  a  red  hood  sur- 
rounding her  face,  whicli  was  all  the  more  baby-like  in  its  pret- 
tiness  from  the  entire  concealment  of  her  hair.  The  poor 
child,  perhaps,  was  weary  after  her  labor  in  the  morning  twi- 
light in  preparation  for  lier  walk  to  market  from  some  castello 
three  or  four  miles  off,  for  she  seemed  to  have  gone  to  sleep  in 
that  half- standing  half -leaning  posture.  Nevertheless  our 
stranger  had  no  compunction  in  :;waking  her,  but  the  means 
he  chose  were  so  gentle  that  it  seemed  to  the  damsel  in  her 
dream  as  if  a  little  sprig  of  thyme  had  touched  her  lips  while 
she  was  stooping  to  gather  the  herbs.  The  dream  was  bro- 
ken, however,  for  she  opened  her  blue  baby-eyes,  and  started 
up  with  astonishment  and  confusion  to  see  the  young  stranger 
standing  close  before  her.  She  heard  him  speaking  to  her  in 
a  voice  which  seemed  so  strange  and  soft  that,  even  if  she  had 
been  more  collected,  sl»e  would  have  taken  it  for  granted  that 
he  said  something  hopelessly  unintelligible  to  her,  and  her  first 
movement  was  to  turn  her  head  a  little  away,  and  lift  up  a  cor- 


32  KOMOL\. 

ncr  of  her  green  serge  mantle  as  a  screen.     He  repeated  his 
words  : 

"  Fornix  c  nic,  jirclty  one,  for  waking  you.  I'm  dyiiit;  witli 
hnnixer,  ami  tlii^  scent  of  milk  makes  breakfast  seem  more  de- 
siralile  than  ever." 

lie  had  chosen  the  woids  ^^ nmoio  di  famc,^''  because  he 
knew  lliey  would  be  familiar  to  licr  ears  ;  and  he  uttered  them 
jilayfuliy,  with  the  iiit(jnalion  of  a  mendicant.  This  time  he 
was  understood  ;  the  coruer  of  the  mantle  was  <hx)j)jK'd,  and 
in  a  few  moments  a  laiLje  cu])  of  fraLjrant  milk  was  held  out  to 
him.  lie  ])aid  no  further  comjilimeuts  before  raisimj  it  to  his 
lips,  and  while  he  Avas  driilking  the  little  maiden  fouml  courage 
to  look  up  at  the  long  brown  curls  of  this  singular-voiced 
stranger,  who  had  asked  for  food  in  the  tones  of  a  beggar, 
but  who — though  his  clothes  were  much  damaged — was  un- 
like any  beggar  she  had  ever  seen. 

"While  this  ])rocess  of  survey  was  going  on  there  was  an- 
other current  of  feeling  that  carried  her  hand  into  a  bag  which 
hung  by  the  side  of  the  mule,  and  when  the  stranger  set  down 
his  cup  he  saw  a  laige  ]»iece  of  bread  held  out  towards  him, 
and  caught  a  glance  of  the  blue  eyes  that  seemed  intended  as 
an  encouragement  to  him  to  take  this  additional  gift. 

"  But  perhaps  that  is  your  own  breakfast,"  he  said.  "  No, 
I  l»ave  had  enough  M'ithout  payment,  A.  thousand  thanks,  my 
gentle  one  1" 

There  was  jio  rejoinder  in  words;  but  the  piece  of  bread 
was  pushed  a  little  nearer  to  him,  as  if  in  impatience  at  his  re- 
fusal ;  and  as  llu'  long  dark  eyes  of  the  stivmger  rested  on  tho 
baby  face  it  seemed  to  be  gathering  more  and  moie  courage  to 
look  up  and  meet  them. 

"Ah,  then,  if  I  must  take  the  bread,"  he  said,  laying  liis 
hand  on  it,  "  I  shall  get  bolder  still,  and  beg  for  another  kiss 
to  make  the  breatl  sweeter." 

His  s])eech  was  getting  wonderfully  intelligible,  in  spite  of 
the  strange  voice,  which  had  at  iirst  almost  seenieil  a  thing  to 
make  her  cross  herself.  She  blushed  deeply,  and  lifted  up  a 
corner  of  her  mantle  to  lier  mouth  again,  lint  just  as  the  too- 
presumptuous  stranger  w.as  leaning  forward,  and  had  his  fin- 
gers on  the  arm  that  held  up  the  screening  mantle,  he  was 
startled  by  a  harsh  vnici'  close  upon  his  ear. 

"  Who  are  ynn — witli  a  murrian  to  you  ?  No  honest  buyer, 
I'll  warrant,  but  a  hanger-on  of  the  dicers — or  som(  thing  worse. 
Go!  dance  <)IT,  and  lind  titter  company,  or  I'll  give  you  a  tune 
to  a  little  (piicker  time  than  you'll  like.* 

The  young  stranger  drew  back  and  looked  at  the  speaker 
with  a  glance  provokingly  free  from  alarm  and  deprecation, 


ROMOLA.  33 

and  liis  slight  expression  of  saucy  amusement  broke  into  a 
broad  beaming  smile  as  he  surveyed  the  figure  of  his  threat^en- 
er.  She  was  a  stout  but  brawny  woman,  with  a  man's  jerkin 
slipped  over  her  green  serge  gamurra  or  gown,  and  the  peaked 
hood  of  some  departed  mantle  fastened  round  her  sunburnt 
face,  which,  under  all  its  coarseness  and  premature  wrinkles, 
showed  a  half-sad  half-ludicrous  maternal  resemblance  to  the 
tender  baby  face  of  the  little  maiden — the  sort  of  resemblanc^ 
which  often  seems  a  more  croaking,  shudder-creating  prophecy 
than  that  of  the  death's  head. 

There  was  something  irresistibly  propitiating  in  that  bright 
young  smile,  but  Monna  Ghita  was  not  a  woman  to  betray  any 
weakness,  and  she  went  on  speaking,  apparently  with  heighten- 
ed exasperation : 

"  Yes,  yes,  you  can  grin  as  well  as  other  monkeys  in  cap  and 
jerkin.  You're  a  minstrel  or  a  mountebank,  I'll  be  sworn  ! 
You  look  for  all  the  world  as  silly  as  a  tumbler  when  he's 
been  upside-down  and  has  got  on  his  heels  again.  And  what 
fool's  trick  hast  thou  been  after,  Tessa '?"  sue  added  turning 
to  her  daughter,  whose  frightened  face  was  more  inviting  to 
abuse.  "  Giving  away  the  milk  and  victuals,  it  seems ;  ay,  ay, 
thou'dst  carry  water  in  thy  ears  for  any  idle  vagabond  that 
didn't  like  to  stoop  for  it,  thou  silly,  staring  rabbit !  Turn  thy 
back  and  lift  the  herbs  out  of  the  panniers,  else  I'll  make  thee 
say  a  few  Aves  Avithout  counting  !" 

•'  Nay,  Madonna,"  said  the  stranger,  with  a  i)lcading  smile, 
"  don't  be  angry  with  your  pretty  Tessa  for  taking  pity  on  a 
hungry  traveller,  who  found  himself  unexpectedly  without  a 
quattrino.  Your  handsome  face  looks  so  well  when  it  frowns, 
that  I  long  to  see  it  illuminated  by  a  smile." 

"  Va,  va  !  I  know  what  ])aste  you  ai-e  mf^le  of.  You  may 
tickle  me  with  that  straw  a  good  long  while  before  I  shall 
laugh,  I  can  tell  you.  Get  along,  with  a  bad  Easter  !  else  I'll 
make  a  beauty-spot  or  two  on  that  face  of  yours  that  shall 
spoil  your  kissing  on  this  side  Advent." 

As  Monna  Ghita  lifted  her  formidable  talons  by  way  of 
complying  with  the  first  and  last  requisite  of  eloquence,  Bratti, 
who  had  come  up  a  minute  or  two  before,  had  been  saying  to 
his  companion,  "  What  think  you  of  this  'pappagallo,  Nello  ? 
Doesn't  his  tongue  smack  of  Venice  ?" 

"  Nay,  Bratti,"  said  the  barber  in  an  under  tone,  "  thy  wis- 
dom has  much  of  the  ass  in  it,  as  I  told  thee  just  now ;  espec- 
ially about  the  ears.  This  stranger  is  a  Greek,  else  I'm  not 
the  barber  who  has  had  the  sole  and  exclusive  shaving  of  the 
excellent  Demetrio,  and  drawn  more  than  one  sorry  tooth  from 
his  learned  jaw.     And  this  youth  might  be   taken  to  have 


34  KOMOLA. 

come  straiglit  from  Olympus — at  least  when  he  has  had  a  tDUch 
of  my  razor." 

"  Orsu  !  ]Monii:i  Gliita  !"  continued  XcUo,  not  sorry  to  see 
some  sport  ;  "  wliat  has  hajipc'iicd  to  causi'  sncli  a  tliunder- 
storm  ?  Has  this  young  stranger  been  misbeliaving  him- 
self?" 

"  By  San  Giovamii  I"  said  tlie  cautious  Bratti,  wlio  liad  not 
shaken  oft'  liis  original  suspicions  concerning  the  shabbily-clad 
fiossessor  of  jewels,"  l»e  did  right  to  run  away  from  7»c,  if  he 
meant  to  get  into  mischief.  I  can  swear  that  I  found  him  im- 
der  the  Loggia  de'  Cerchi,  \\'\\\\  a  ring  on  his  finger  such  as 
I've  seen  worn  by  Bernardo  Kucellai  liimself.  Not  another 
rusty  nail's  Avorth  do  I  know  about  him." 

"  Clic,  che^''  said  Xcllo,  eying  the  stranger  good-lumioredly; 
"  the  fact  is,  this  bdlo  giocane  has  been  a  little  too  presiunp- 
tuous  in  admiiing  the  charms  of  JMomia  Ghita, '  and  has  at- 
tempted to  kiss  her  Avhile  her  daughter's  back  is  turned  ;  for 
I  observe  that  the  ])retty  Tessa  is  too  busy  to  look  this  way 
at  present.  Was  it  not  so,  Messer?"  Nello  concluded,  in  a 
tone  of  courtesy. 

"  You  have  divined  the  offense  like  a  soothsayer,"  said  the 
strangei',  laughingly.  "  Only  that  I  had  not  had  the  good  for- 
tune to  find  .Moinia  Ghita  here  at  first.  I  begged  a  cup  of 
milk  from  her  daughter,  and  had  accepted  this  gift  of  bread, 
for  which  I  was  making  an  humble  offering  of  gratitude,  be- 
fore I  had  had  tlie  higher  ]ileasure  of  i)eing  face  to  face  with 
these  ripe  charms  wliicli  1  was  perhaps  too  bold  in  admir- 
ing." 

"  T Y?,  ?;a .'  be  off,  every  one  of  you,  and  stay  in  jnirgatory 
till  I  i)ay  to  get  you  out,  will  youV"  said  Monna  (41iita,  fiercc- 
Iv,  elbowing  Nello,  and  leading  forward  her  mule  so  as  to 
compel  the  stranger  to  juni))  aside.  "  Tessa,  thou  simpleton, 
bring  forward  thy  mule  a  bit,  the  cart  will  be  upon  us." 

As  Tessa  turned  to  take  the  mule's  bridle  she  cast  one  tim- 
id glance  at  the  stranger  who  was  now  moving  with  Nello 
out  of  the  way  of  an  approaching  Juarket-cart ;  and  the  glance 
was  just  long  enough  to  seize  the  beckoning  movement  of  his 
liand,  which  indicated  that  he  had  been  watching  for  this  op- 
portunity of  an  adieu. 

^^  jE'/fbcfic,"'  said  Jiratti,  raising  his  voice  to  sjieak  across  the 
cart :  "  I  leave  you  with  Nello,  young  man,  for  there's  no 
pushing  my  bag  and  basket  any  iarther,  and  I  have  business 
at  home.  But  you'll  remember  our  bargain,  because  if  you 
found  Tessa  without  me  it  was  not  my  fault.  Nello  will  show 
you  my  shop  in  the  Ferravecchj,  and  I'll  not  turn  my  back  on 
you." 


ROMOLA.  do 


"  A  thousand  thanks,  friend  !"  said  the  stranger,  laughing, 
and  then  turned  away  with  Xello  up  the  narrow  street  which 
led  most  directly  to  the  Piazza  del  Duomo. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE    barber's    shop. 


,1 


''To  tell  you  the  truth,"  said  the  young  stranger  to  Nello, 
as  (hey  got  a  little  clearer  of  the  entangled  vehicles  and  mules, 
"  1  am  not  sorry  to  be  handed  over  by  that  patron  of  mine  to 
one  who  has  a  less  barbarous  accent,  and  a  less  enigmatical 
business.  Is  it  a  common  thing  among  you  Florentines  for 
an  itinerant  vfafficker  in  broken  glass  and  rags  to  talk  of  a 
shop  where  he  sells  lutes  and  swords  ?" 

"  Common  ?  No  :  our  Bratti  is  not  a  common  man.  He 
has  a  theory,  aud  lives  up  to'iT;" which  is  more  than  I  can  say 
for  any  philosopher  I  have  the  honor  of  shaving,"  answered  * 
Nello,  whose  loquacity,  like  an  overfull  bottle,  could  never  pour 
forth  a  small  dose.  "  Bratti  means  to  extract  the  utmost  pos- 
sible amount  of  ph^asure,  that  is  to  say,  of  hard  bargaining,  out 
of  this  life  ;  windiivg  it  up  with  a  bargain  for  the  easiest  pos- 
sible passage  through  purgatory,  by  giving  Holy  Church  his 
winninirs  when  the  irame  is  over.  He  has  had  his  will  made 
to  that  effect  on  the  cheapest  terms  a  notary  could  be  got  for. 
But  I  have  often  said  to  him, '  Bratti,  thy  bargain  is  a  limping 
one,  and  thou  art  on  the  lame  side  of  it.  Does  it  not  make 
thee  a  little  sad  to  look  at  the  pictures  of  the  Paradiso  ? 
Tiiou  wilt  never  be  able  there  to  chaffer  for  rags  and  rusty 
nails  ;  the  saints  and  angels  want  neither  pins  nor  tinder  ;  and 
excei)t  with  San  Bartolommeo,  Avho  carries  his  skin  about  in 
an  inconvenient  manner,  I  see  no  chance  of  thy  making  a  bar- 
gain for  second-hand  clothing.'  But,  Dio  mi  perdoni^''  added 
Nello,  changing  his  tone,  and  crossing  himself,  "  this  light  talk 
ill  beseems  a  morning  when  Lorenzo  lies  dead,  and  the  Muses 
are  tearing  their  hair — always  a  painful  thought  to  a  barber ; 
and  you  yourself,  Messer,  are  probably  under  a  cloud,  for  when 
a  man  of  your  speech  and  presence  takes  up  with  so  sorry  a 
nicrht's  lodffin"',  it  aro-ues  some  misfortune  to  have  befallen 
him." 

"  What  Lorenzo  is  that  whose  death  you  speak  of  ?"  said 
the  stranger,  appearing  to  have  dwelt  with  too  anxious  an  in- 
terest on  this  point  to  have  noticed  the  indirect  inquiry  that 
followed  it. 


;Jtj  l;u.MiiI.A. 

*'  Wluit  I^oronzo  ?  There  is  but  one  Lorenzo,  I  imagine, 
wljose  ilenth  coiiUl  throw  the  IMi-ri'ato  iiitu  ;iii  u|iro:ir,  .set  the 
hiiitern  ut'  llie  J>uoiiio  leai'iiig  in  desperation,  and  cause  the 
lions  of  the  liepuldic  to  fcii  under  an  iniincdiatc  necessity  to 
devour  one  another.  1  mean  Lorenzo  de  Mediei,  the  l\!ricle8 
of  our  Atliens — if  I  may  make  such  a  comi)arison  in  the  ear 
of  a  Greek." 

"AVliv  not?"  said  the  other  lau'jhin'dv  ;  "for  T  doubt 
whetlier  Athens,  even  in  tlie  days  of  Pericles,  could  have  pro- 
duced so  learne<l  a  barber." 

"Yes,  yes;  I  thought  I  could  not  be  mistaken,"  said  tlie 
rapid  Nello,  "else  I  have  shaved  the  venerable  Demetrio  Cal- 
condila  to  little  purpose  ;  but  ]>ardon  nie,  I  am  lost  in  ^vonder  : 
your  Italian  is  better  than  his,  though  he  has  been  in  Italy 
forty  years — better  even  than  that  of  the  accom])lished  ^larul- 
lo,  who  may  be  said  to  have  married  the  Italic  ^luse  in  more 
senses  than  one,  since  lie  has  married  our  learned  and  lovely 
Alessandra  Scala." 

"It  will  lighten  your  wonder  to  know  that  T  come  of  a 
Greek  stock,  i>lantcd  in  Italian  soil  much  longer  than  the  mul- 
berry-trees which  have  taken  so  kindly  to  it.  I  was  born  at 
Bari,  and  my — I  mean,  I  was  brought  up  by  an  Italian — and, 
in  fact,  may  rather  be  called  Gneculus  than  a  Greek.  The 
Greek  dye  was  subdued  in  nie,  I  suppose,  till  I  had  been  dip- 
ped over  again  by  long  abode  and  much  travel  in  the  land  of 
gods  and  heroes.  And,  to  confess  something  of  my  private 
affairs  to  you,tliis  same  Greek  dye,  with  a  few  ancient  gems  I 
have  about  nie,  is  the  only  fortune  shii)wreck  has  left  rae.  But 
— when  tlie  towers  fall,  you  know,  it  is  an  ill  business  for  the 
small  nest-builders — the  death  of  your  Pericles  makes  me  wish 
I  had  rather  turned  my  steps  towards  Rome,  as  I  should  have 
done,  but  for  a  f.iUacious  Minerva  in  the  shape  of  an  Augustin- 
ian  monk.  '  ^\t  IkDme,'  he  said, '  you  will  be  lost  in  a  crowd  of 
hungry  scholars;  but  at  Florence,  eveiy  corner  is  penetrated 
by  the  sunshine  of  Lorenzo's  patronage:  Florence  is  the  best 
m.arket  in  Italy  for  such  commodities  as  yours." 

'^^  Gi>afl'(\:uu\  so  it  will  remain,  1  ho])e,"  said  Nello.  "Lo- 
renzo was  not  the  oidy  patron  and  judge  of  learning  in  our  city 
— Heaven  forbid  !  Because  he  wa.s  a  large  melon,  every  other 
I'lorentine  is  not  ;i  jpuinpkin,  »u'  pure.  Have  we  not  Bernardo 
Kucellai,  and  .Mamaiiiio  Kiiniccini,  an<l  ])le!ity  more?  And  if 
you  Avant  to  be  informed  on  such  matters,  I,  Nello,  am  your 
man.  It  seems  to  me  a  thousand  years  till  I  can  be  of  service 
to  a  hrl  criii/ito  like  yourself.  And,  iirst  of  all,  in  the  matter 
of  your  hair.  That  l)eard,my  tine  young  man,  must  be  parted 
willi,  were  it  as  dear  to  you  as  th"  nymph  of  your  dreams. 


KOMOLA,  37 

Here  at  Florence  we  love  not  to  see  a  man  Avith  his  nose  pro- 
jecting over  a  cascade  of  hair.  But,  remember,  you  will  have 
passed  the  Rubicon  when  once  you  have  been  shaven  :  if  you 
repent,  and  let  your  beard  grow  after  it  has  acquired  stoutness 
bv  a  struggle  with  the  i-azor,  vour  mouth  will  bv-and-bv  show 
no  longer  what  Messer  Angelo  calls  the  divine  prerogative  of 
lips,  but  will  appear  like  a  dark  cavern  fringed  with  horrent 
brambles." 

"  That  is  a  ten-ible  prophecy,"  said  the  Greek,  "  especially 
it  your  Florentine  maidens  are  many  of  them  as  pretty  as  the 
little  Tessa  I  stole  a  kiss  from  this  morning." 

"  Tessa  ?  she  is  a  rough-handed  contadina :  you  Avill  rise 
into  the  favor  of  dames  who  bring  no  scent  of  the  mule-sta- 
bles with  them.  But  to  that  end  you  must  not  have  the  air 
of  a  s(//ic)TO,  or  a  man  of  evil  repute :  you  must  look  like  a 
courtier,  and  a  scholar  of  the  more  polished  sort,  such  as  our 
Pietro  Crinito — like  one  who  sins  among  well-bred,  well-fed 
])eople,  and  not  one  who  sucks  down  vile  vino  cU  sotto  in  a 
chance  tavern." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  the  stranger.  "  If  the  Floren- 
tine Graces  demand  it,  I  am  willing  to  give  up  this  small  mat- 
ter of  my  beard,  but, — " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  interrupted  Nello.  "  I  know  Avhat  you  would 
say.  It  is  the  hella  zazzera — the  hyacinthine  locks,  you  do  not 
choose  to  part  with  ;  and  there  is  no  need.  Just  a  little  prun- 
ing— ecco  ! — and  you  will  look  not  unlike  the  illustrious  prince 
Pico  di  Miraiidola  in  his  prime.  And  here  Ave  are  in  good 
time  in  the  Piazza  San  Giovanni,  and  at  the  door  of  my  shop. 
But  you  are  pausing, I  see;  naturally, you  Avant  to  look  at  our 
Avonder  of  the  Avorld,  our  Duomo,  our  Santa  Maria  del  Fiore. 
Well,  Avell,  a  mere  glance ;  but  I  beseech  you  to  leave  a  closer 
survey  till  you  have  been  shaved :  I  am  quivering  Avith  the 
inspiration  of  my  art  even  to  the  A'ery  edge  of  my  razor.  Ah, 
then,  come  round  this  way." 

The  mercurial  barber  seized  the  arm  of  the  stranger  and 
led  him  to  a  point  on  the  south  side  of  the  piazza,  from  which 
he  could  see  at  once  the  huge  dark  shell  of  the  cupola,  the 
slender  soaring  grace  of  Giotto's  campanile,  and  the  quaint 
octagon  of  San  Giovanni  in  front  of  them,  shoAving  its  unique 
gates  of  storied  bronze,  Avhich  still  bore  the  somewhat  dimmed 
glory  of  their  original  gilding.  The  inlaid  marbles  Avere  then 
fresher  in  their  pink,  and  Avhite,  and  purple  than  they  are 
now,  Avhen  the  Avinters  of  four  centuries  have  turned  their 
Avliite  to  the  rich  ochre  of  Avell-mellowed  meerschaum;  the  fa- 
cade of  the  cathedral  did  not  stand  ignominious  in  faded  stuc- 
CO,  but  had  upon  it  the  magniticenl  promise  of  the  half-corn- 


38  ItOMOLA. 

pletcd  mmblo  iiila\  incr  <i'i<^  statucd  niclics  wliioh  Cliotto  had 
ile\  ist'd  a  Imndivd  and  iifty  years  before;  and  as  the  campa- 
nile ill  all  its  liarrnoniuus  variety  of  color  and  form  led  the  eyes 
ui)\vai'd,  liiL,'h  into  thejiureair  of  that  April  niDrninu',  it  seemed 
a  proiilietic  symbol,  lelliiiLj  that  human  lite  must  somehow  and 
some  time  shape  itself  into  accord  with  that  2)ure  aspiring 
beauty. 

But  this  was  not  the  impression  it  aj)iH'ared  to  produce  on 
the  Greek.  His  eyes  were  irresistibly  led  upwanl,  but  as  he 
Ptood  witli  his  arms  folded  and  his  curls  falling  backward 
there  was  a  sTiLrht  touch  of  scorn  on  his  lip,  and  when  his  eyes 
fell  again,  they  glanced  round  with  a  scanning  coolness  which 
was  rather  i)i(piing  to  Nello's  Florentine  s])irit. 

'■'■Khhene,  bel  f/iovane,''''  ho  said,  with  some  impatience, 
"you  seem  to  make  as  little  of  our  cathedral  as  if  you  were 
the  angel  Gabriel  come  straight  from  Paradise.  I  shoukl  like 
to  know  if  you  have  ever  seen  finer  work  than  our  Giotto's 
tower,  or  any  cupola  that  would  not  look  a  mere  mushroom 
by  the  side  of  lirunelleschi's  there,  or  any  marbles  finer  or 
more  cunningly  wrought  than  these  that  our  Signoria  got 
from  far-off  quarries,  at  a  price  that  would  buy  a  dukedom. 
Come,  now,  have  you  ever  seen  any  thing  to  equal  them  ?" 

"If  you  asked  me  that  question  with  a  cimeter  at  my 
throat,  after  the  Turkish  fashion,  or  even  your  own  razor," 
said  the  young  Gix-ek,  smiling  gayly,  and  moving  on  towards 
the  gates  of  the  Baptistery,  "  I  dare  say  you  might  get  a  con- 
fession of  the  true  faith  from  inc.  But  with  my  throat  free 
from  i)eril,  I  venture  to  tell  you  that  your  buildings  smack  too 
much  of  Christian  barbarism  for  my  taste.  I  have  a  shudder- 
ing sense  of  what  there  isjnside — hideous  smoked  ^ladonnas ; 
tleshless  saints  in  mosaic,  staring  down  idiotic  astonishment 
and  rebuke  from  the  apse  ;  skin-clad  skeletons  hanging  on 
crosses,  or  stuck  all  over  with  arrows,  or  stretched  on  grid- 
irons ;  women  and  monks  with  heads  aside  in  ))er])etual  lam- 
entation. I  have  seen  enough  of  those  wry-necketl  favorites 
of  heaven  at  Constantinople.  But  what  is  this  bronze  door 
rough  witli  imagery  ?  These  womeiTs  figures  seem  moulded 
in  a  different  spirit  from  those  starved  and  staring  saints  I 
spoke  of:  these  heads  in  high  relief  speak  of  ;i  human  mind 
within  them,  instead  of  looking  like  an  index  to  perpetual 
spasms  and  colic." 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Nello,  Avith  some  triumph.  "T  think  wo 
shall  show  you  by-and-1)y  that  our  Florentine  art  is  not  in  a 
state  of  barbarism.  These  gates,  my  fine  young  man,  were 
moulded,  half  a  century  ago,  by  our  Lorenzo  Ghiberti,  when 
he  counted  hardly  so  many  years  as  you  do." 


ROMOLA,  39 

"  Ah,  I  remember,"  said  the  stranger,  turning  away  like  one 
whose  appetite  for  contemplation  was  soon  satisfied.  "  I  have 
heard  that  your  Tuscan  sculptors  and  painters  have  been 
studying  the  antique  a  little.  But  Avith  monks  for  models, 
and  the  legends  of  mad  hermits  and  martyrs  for  subjects,  the 
vision  of  Olympus  itself  would  be  of  small  use  to  them." 

"  I  understand,"  said  Nello,  with  a  significant  shrug,  as  they 
walked  alonsf.  "  You  are  of  the  same  mind  as  Michele  Marul- 
lo,  ay,  and  as  Angelo  Poliziano  himself,  in  spite  of  his  canoni- 
cate,  when  he  relaxes  himself  a  little  in  my  shop,  after  his  lec- 
tures, and  talks  of  the  gods  awaking  from  their  long  sleep  and 
making:  the  woods  and  sti'eams  vital  once  more.  But  he  rails 
against  the  Roman  scholars  who  want  to  make  us  all  talk  Latin 
again  :  '  My  ears,'  he  says, '  are  sufficiently  flayed  by  the  bar- 
barisms of  the  learned,  and  if  the  vulgar  are  to  talk  Latin  I 
would  as  soon  have  been  in  P"'lorence  the  day  they  took  to 
beating  all  the  kettles  in  the  city  because  the  bells  were  not 
enough  to  stay  the  wrath  of  the  saints.'  Ah,  Messer  Greco, 
if  you  want  to  know  the  flavor  of  our  scholarship,  you  must 
frequent  my  shop  :  it  is  the  focus  of  Florentine  intellect,  and 
in  that  sense  the  navel  of  the  earth — as  my  great  predecessor, 
Burchiello,  said  of  his  shop,  on  the  more  frivolous  pretension 
that  his  street  of  the  Calimara  Avas  the  centre  of  our  city. 
And  here  we  are  at  the  sign  of  '  Apollo  and  the  Razor.' 
Apollo,  you  see,  is  bestowing  the  razor  on  the  Triptolemus  of 
our  craft,  the  first  reaper  of  beards,  the  sublime  Anonimo, 
whose  mysterious  identity  is  indicated  by  a  shadowy  hand." 

"  I  see  thou  hast  had  custom  already,  Sandro,"  continued 
Nello,  addressing  a  solemn-looking,  dark-eyed  youth  Avho  made 
way  for  them  on  the  threshold.  "  And  now  make  all  clear  for 
this  signor  to  sit  down.  And  prepare  the  finest  scented  lather, 
for  he  has  a  learned  and  a  handsome  chin." 

"  You  have  a  pleasant  little  adytum  there,  I  see,"  said  the 
stranger,  looking  through  a  latticed  screen  winch  divided  the 
shop  from  a  room  of  about  equal  size,  opening  into  a  still 
smaller  walled  inclosure,  where  a  few  bays  and  laurels  sur- 
rounded a  stone  Hermes.  "  I  suppose  your  conclave  of  erudlti 
meets  there?" 

"  There,  and  not  less  in  my  shop,"  said  Nello,  leading  tho 
way  into  the  inner  room,  in  which  were  some  benches,  a  table, 
with  one  book  in  manuscript  and  one  printed  in  capitals  lying 
open  upon  it,  a  lute,  a  few  oil-sketches,  and  a  model  or  two  of 
hands  and  ancient  masks.  "  For  my  shop  is  a  no  less  fitting 
haunt  of  the  Muses,  as  you  will  acknowledge  when  you  feel 
the  sudden  illumination  of  understanding  and  the  serene  vigor 
of  inspiration  that  will  come  to  you  with  a  clear  chin.     Ah  ! 


40  UOMOLA. 

you  can  make  lliat  lute  discourse,  I  perceive.  I  too  liave 
some  skill  tliat  w  ay,  iliouu;h  the  serenata  is  useless  when  day- 
light discloses  a  visaj^e  like  mine,  looking  no  fresher  than  an 
a|)j»le  that  has  stood  the  winter.  IJut  look  at  that  sketch — it 
is  a  fancy  of  Piero  di  Cosimo's,  a  strange  f  reakisli  painter,  who 
says  he  saw  it  by  long  looking  at  a  mouldy  wall." 

The  sketch  Nello  j)ointed  to  represented  three  masks — one 
a  drunken,  laughing  Satyr,  another  a  sorrowing  Magdalen,  and 
the  third,  which  lay  l)etween  them,  the  rigid,  cohl  face  of  a 
IStoic :  the  masks  rested  obliquely  .on  the  lap  of  a  little  child, 
whose  cherub  features  rose  above  them  with  something  of  the 
supernal  promise  in  the  gaze  which  painters  had  by  that  time 
learned  to  give  to  the  Divine  Infant. 

"  A  symljolical  ])icture,  I  see,"  said  the  young  Greek,  touch- 
ing the  lute  while  he  s]K)ke,  so  as  to  bring  out  a  slight  music- 
al murmur.  "  The  child,  perhaps,  is  the  (ioldeii  Age,  wanting 
neither  worshijt  nor  philosoj)hy.  Aui\  the  Golden  Age  can  al- 
ways come  back  as  long  as  men  are  born  in  the  foim  of  babies, 
and  don't  come  into  the  world  in  cassock  or  furretl  mantle. 
Or  tlie  child  may  .mean  the  wise  i)hilosophy  of  Epicurus,  re- 
jnoved  alike  from  the  gross,  the  sad,  and  the  severe." 

"Ah!  every  body  has  liis  own  interpretation  for  tliat  pic- 
ture,"  said  Nello;  "and  if  you  ask  I'iero  himself  what  he 
meant  by  it,  he  says  his  pictures  are  an  ap])endix  which  Messer 
Domeneddio  lias  Ix'cn  ])leased  to  make  to  the  universe,  and  if 
any  man  is  in  doidit  what  they  mean,  he  had  better  iiupiire  of 
Holy  Ghurch.  He  has  been  asked  to  paint  a  picture  after  tlie 
sketch,  but  he  i)uts  his  fingers  to  his  ears  and  shakes  his  head 
at  that:  the  fancy  is  ])assed.  he  says — a  strange  animal,  our 
Piero.  IJut  now  all  is  ready  for  your  initiation  into  the  mys- 
teries of  the  razor. 

"  ]\rvsteries  they  may  well  be  called,"  contimied  the  barber, 
with  rising  s])irits  .at  the  prospect  of  a  long  monologue,  as  he 
iinjirisonetl  tlie  young  (ireek  in  the  shroud-like  shaving  cloth ; 
"mysteries  of  Minei'va  and  the  Graces.  I  get  the  flower  of 
men's  thoughts,  because  I  seize  them  in  the  iirst  moment  after 
shaving.  (Ah!  you  wince  a  little  :it  the  lather:  it  tickles  the 
outlying  limits  of  the  nose,  I  admit.)  And  that  is  what  makes 
tiie  peodiar  fitness  of  a  barber's  shop  to  become  a  resort  of 
wit  and  learning.  F*^-  look  now  at  a  druggist's  shoj) :  there  is 
a  dull  conclave  at  the  sign  of  //  Jforo,  that  i)retends  to  rival 
mine ;  but  what  sort  of  insijiration,  I  beseech  you,  can  be  got 
from  the  scent  of  nauseous  veget.able  decoctions? — to  say 
notliing  of  the  fact  that  you  no  sooner  pass  the  threshold  than 
you  see  a  doctor  of  jihysic,  like  a  gigantic  spider,  disguised  in 
fur  and  scarlet,  waiting  for  his  prey ;  or  even  see  him  block- 


ROMOLA.  41 

ing  up  the  door-way  sented  on  a  bony  hack,  inspecting  saliva. 
(Your  chin  a  little  elevated,  if  it  please  you  :  contemplate  that 
angel  who  is  blowing  tlie  trumpet  at  you  from  the  ceiliiig.  I 
had  it  painted  expressly  for  the  regulation  of  my  clients' 
chins.)  Besides,  your  druggist,  Avho  herborizes  and  decocts, 
is  a  man  of  prejudices:  he  has  poisoned  people  according  to  a 
system,  and  is  obliged  to  stand  irp  for  his  system  to  justify 
the  consequences.  Now  a  barber  can  be  dispassionate ;  the 
only  thing  he  necessarily  stands  by  is  the  razor,  always  pro- 
viding he  is  not  an  author.  That  was  the  flaw  in  my  great 
predecessor  Burchicllo :  he  was  a  poet,  and  had  consequently 
a  prejudice  about  his  own  jjoetry.  I  have  escaped  that ;  I 
saw  very  early  that  authorship  is. a  narrowing  business^  in 
conflict  with  the  libei-al  art  of  the  razor,  which  demands  an 
impartial  affection  for  all  men's  chins.  Ecco,  Messer  !  the 
outline  of  your  chin  and  lip  are  as  clear  as  a  maiden's ;  and 
liow  fix  your  mind  on  a  knotty  question — ask  yourself  wheth- 
er you  are  bound  to  spell  Virgil  with  an  i  or  an  e,  and  say  if 
j'ou  do  not  feel  an  unwonted  clearness  on  the  point.  Only,  if 
^'ou  decide  for  the  /,  keep  it  to  yourself  till  your  fortune  is 
niade,  for  the  e  hath  the  stronger  following  in  Florence.  Ah  I 
i  think  I  see  a  gleam  of  still  quicker  wit  in  your  eye.  I  have 
it  on  the  authority  of  our  young  Niccolo  Machiavelli,  himself 
keen  enough  to  discern  il  pelo  nelV  uovo,  as  we  say,  and  a 
great  lover  of  delicate  shaving,  though  his  beard  is  hardly  of 
two  years'  date,  that  no  sooner  do  the  hairs  begin  to  push 
tliemselves  than  he  perceives  a  certain  grossness  of  apprehen- 
sion creeping  over  him." 

"  Suppose  .you  let  me  look  at  myself,"  said  the  stranger, 
laughing.  "  The  happy  effect  on  my  intellect  is  perhaps  ob- 
structed by  a  little  doubt  as  to  the  effect  on  my  a])pearance." 

"Behold  yourself  in  this  mirror,  then;  it  is  a  Venetian 
mirror  from  Murano,  the  true  nosce  tei2)si<ra,  as  I  have  named 
it,  compared  with  wliich  the  finest  mirror  of  steel  or  silver  is 
mere  darkness.  See  now  how  by  diligent  shaving  the  nether 
region  of  your  face  may  preserve  its  human  outline,  instead  of 
presenting  no  distinction  from  the  physiognomy  of  a  bearded 
owl  or  a  Barbary  ape.  I  have  seen  men  whose  beards  have 
so  invaded  their  cheeks  that  one  might  have  pitied  them  as 
the  victims  of  a  sad,  brutalizing  chastisement  befitting  our 
Dante's  Inferno,  if  they  liad  not  seemed  to  strut  with  a 
strange  triumph  in  their  extravagant  hairiness." 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  the  Greek,  still  looking  into  the 
mirror,  "that  you  have  taken  away  some  of  my  capital  with 
your  razor — I  mean  a  year  or  two  of  age,  which  might  have 
won  me  more  ready  credit  for  my  learning.     Under  the  in- 


42  ROMOLA. 

spection  of  a  patron  whose  vision  has  grown  somewhat  dim, 
I  shall  have  a  ])erilous  reseniV)hince  to  a  maiden  of  eighteen  in 
the  disguise  of  liose  and  jerkin." 

"  Not  at  all,"  saitl  Nello,  jiroceeding  to  elip  the  too  extrav- 
agant curls ;  "  your  proportions  are  not  those  of  a  maiden. 
And  for  your  age,  I  myself  remember  seeing  Angelo  Poliziano 
begin  his  lectures  on  the  Latin  language  when  he  liad  a 
younger  beard  than  yours;  and  between  ourselves,  his  juvenile 
ugliness  was  not  less  signal  than  his  ))recocious  scholarship. 
Whereas  you — no,  no,  your  age  is  not  against  you ;  but  be- 
tween ourselves,  let  me  hint  to  you  that  your  being  a  Greek, 
though  it  be  only  an  Ai)ulian  Greek,  is  not  in  your  favor. 
Certain  of  our  scholars  hold  that  your  Greek  learning  is  but 
a  wayside  degenerate  j)laiit  until  it  has  been  trans])lanted  into 
Italian  brains,  antl  that  now  there  is  such  a  plentiful  cro|)  of 
the  superior  quality,  your  native  teachers  are  mere  propaga- 
tors of  degeneracy.  Ecco  !  your  curls  are  now  of  the  right 
proportion  to  neck  and  shoulders;  rise,  Messer,  and  I  will  free 
you  from  the  incumbrance  of  this  cloth.  Gnajf'ef  I  almost 
advise  you  to  retain  the  faded  jerkin  and  hose  a  little  longer; 
they  give  you  the  air  of  a  fallen  prince." 

''  15ut  the  question  is,"  said  the  young  Greek,  leaning  against 
the  high  back  of  a  chair,  and  returning  Nello's  contemplative 
admiration  with  a  look  of  inquiring  anxiety — "  the  question  is, 
in  what  quarter  I  am  to  cany  my  princely  air,  so  as  to  rise 
from  the  said  fallen  coiulition.  If  your  Florentine  patrons  of 
learning  share  this  scholarly  hostility  to  the  Greeks,  I  see  not 
liow  your  city  can  be  a  hospitable  refuge  for  me,  as  you  seem- 
ed to  say  just  now." 

"P/an  piano — not  so  fast,"  said  Xcllo,  sticking  his  thumbs 
into  his  belt,  and  noilding  to  Sandro  to  restore  order.  "  I  will 
not  conceal  from  you  that  there  is  a  jjrejudice  against  Greeks 
among  us;  and  tliough,  as  a  barber,  unsnared  by  authorshij), 
I  share  no  prejudices,  I  must  admit  that  the  Greeks  are  not  al- 
ways such  pretty  youngsters  as  yourself;  their  erudition  is 
often  of  an  uiic()ml>e<!,  umnannerly  aspect,  and  incrusted  with 
a  barbarous  utterance  of  Italian,  that  makes  their  converse 
hardly  more  euphonious  than  fliat  of  a  Tedesco  in  a  state  of 
vinous  loquacity.  And  then,  again,  excuse  me — we  Floren- 
tines have  liberal  ideas  about  speech,  and  consider  that  an  in- 
strument which  can  flatter  and  promise  so  cleverly  as  the 
tongue  must  have  been  partly  made  for  those  jmrposes;  and 
that  truth  is  a  riddle  for  eyes  and  wit  to  discover  wliich  it  were 
a  mere  sjioiling  of  sport  for  the  tongue  to  betray.  Still  we 
have  our  limits  beyond  which  we  call  dissimulation  treachery. 
But  It  IS  saiJ  of  the  Greeks  that  tlx-ir  honesty  begins  at  what 


ROMOLA.  43 

is  the  hanging-point  with  ns,  and  that  since  the  old  Furies 
went  to  sleep  your  Cliristian  Greek  is  of  so  easy  a  conscience 
that  lie  would  make  a  stepping-stone  of  his  father's  corpse." 

The  flush  on  the  stranger's  face  indicated  what  seemed  so 
natural  a  movement  of  resentment  that  the  good-natured  Nello 
hastened  to  atone  for  his  want  of  reticence. 

"  Be  not  offended,  bel  giovane  /  I  am  but  repeating  what  I 
hear  in  my  shop  ;  as  you  may  perceive,  my  eloquence  is  simply 
the  cream  which  I  skim  off  my  clients'  talk.  Heaven  forbid 
I  should  fetter  my  impartiality  by  entertaining  an  opinion. 
And  for  that  same  scholarly  objection  to  the  Greeks,"  added 
Nello,  in  a  more  mocking  tone,  and  with  a  significant  grimace, 
"the  fact  is,  you  are  heretics,  Messer ;  jealousy  has  nothing  to 
do  Avith  it:  if  you  Avould  just  change  your  opinion  about 
Leaven,  an.d  alter  your  Doxology  a  little,  our  Italian  scholars 
would  think  it  a  thousand  years  till  they  could  give  iip  their 
chairs  to  you.  Yes,  yes ;  it  is  chiefly  religious  scruple,  and 
partly  also  the  authority  of  a  great  classic — Juvenal,  is  it  not  ? 
He,  I  gather,  had  his  bile  as  much  stirred  by  the  swarm  of 
Greeks  as  our  Messer  Angelo,  who  is  fond  of  quoting  some 
passage  about  their  incorrigible  impudence — audacia  perditaP 

"  Pooh  !  the  passage  is  a  compliment,"  said  the  Greek,  who 
had  recovered  himself,  and  seemed  wise  enough  to  take  the 
matter  gayiy — 

' '  '  Ingenium  velox,  audacia  perdita,  sermo 
Fromptus,  et  Isseo  torrentior.' 

A  rapid  intellect  and  ready  eloquence  may  carry  off  a  little 
impudence." 

"■  Assuredly,"  said  Xello.  "  And  since,  as  I  see,  you  know 
Latin  literature  as  well  as  Greek,  you  will  not  fall  into  the  mis- 
take of  Giovanni  Argiropulo,  who  ran  full  tilt  against  Cicero, 
and  pronounced  him  all  but  a  pum})kin-head.  For,  let  me  give 
you  one  bit  of  advice,  young  man — trust  a  barber  Avho  has 
shaved  the  best  chins,  and  kept  his  eyes  and  ears  open  for 
twenty  years — oil  your  tongue  well  when  you  talk  of  the  an- 
cient Latin  writers,  and  give  it  an  extra  dip  when  you  talk  of 
the  modern.  A  wise  Greek  may  Avin  favor  among  us ;  wit- 
ness our  excellent  Demetrio,  who  is  loved  by  many,  and  not 
hated  immoderately  even  by  the  most  j'enowned  scholars." 

"  I  discern  the  Avisdom  of  your  advice  so  clearly,"  said  tho 
Greek,  with  the  brio-ht  smile  Avhich  Avas  continuallv  liarhting 
up  the  fine  form  and  color  of  his  young  face, "  that  I  Avill  ask 
you  for  a  little  more.  Who  noAV,  for  example,  Avould  be  the 
most  likely  patron  for  me  ?  Is  there  a  son  of  Lorenzo  who  in- 
herits his  taste?     Or  is  there  any  other  wealthy  Florentine 


44  KOMOLA. 

specially  addlctetl  to  purchasing  antique  gems?  I  have  a  fine 
Cleopatra  cut  in  sardonyx,  and  one  or  two  other  intagli  and 
oarnt'i,  botli  curious  and  btiiutiful,  worthy  of  being  added  to 
tin-  ral)ini't  of  a  prince.  Happily,  I  had  taken  the  j)recaution 
t)f  fastening  tlieni  witliin  the  lining  of  my  doublet  before  1  set 
out  on  my  voyage.  Moreover,  I  should  like  to  raise  a  small 
sum  for  my  jtresent  need  on  tht?;  ring  of  mine"  (here  he  took 
out  the  ring  and  replaced  it  on  his  linger),  "if  you  could  re- 
commend me  to  any  honest  trafficker." 

'*  Let  us  see,  let  us  see,"  said  Xello,  perusing  the  floor,  and 
Avalking  up  and  down  the  length  of  his  shop.  ''  This  is  no 
time  to  apply  to  Piero  de'  Medici,  though  he  has  the  will  to 
make  such  purchases  if  he  could  always  spare  the  money ;  but 
I  think  it  is  another  sort  of  Cleopatra  that  he  covets  most.  .  .  . 
Yes,  yes,  I  have  it.  What  you  want  is  a  man  of  wealth,  and 
influence,  and  scholarly  tastes — not  one  of  your  learned  jjorcu- 
jjincs,  bristling  all  over  with  critical  tests,  but  one  whose  Greek 
and  Latin  .ire  of  a  comfortable  laxity.  iVnd  that  man  is  Bar- 
tolonimeo  Srala,  the  secretary  of  our  republic.  He  came  to 
Florence  as  a  poor  adventurer  himself — a  miller's  son — a 
*  braimy  monster,"  as  he  has  been  nicknamed  by  our  honey- 
lipped  Poliziano,  who  agrees  with  him  as  well  as  my  teeth 
agree  with  lemon-juice.  And,  by-the-by,  that  may  be  a  reason 
■why  the  secretary  may  be  the  more  ready  to  do  a  good  turn 
to  a  strange  seliolar.  For,  between  you  and  xwqJuI  rjiorane — 
trust  a  barljer  who  has  shaved  the  best  scholars — friendliness 
is  much  such  a  steed  as  Ser  Benghi's  :  it  will  hardlv  show  much 
alacrity  unless  it  has  got  the  thistle  of  hatred  under  its  tail. 
However,  the  secretary  is  a  man  wlio'll  keep  his  word  to  you, 
even  to  the  halving  of  a  femiel  seed;  and  he  is  not  unlikely  to 
buy  some  of  your  gems." 

"  I)Ut  liow  am  1  to  get  at  this  great  man?"  said  the  Greek, 
rather  impatiently. 

"  I  was  coming  to  that,"  said  Xello.  "  .Tust  now  every  body 
of  any  public  importance  will  be  full  of  Lorenzo's  death,  and  a 
stranger  may  find  it  difficult  to  get  any  notice.  But  in  the 
mean  time  I  could  take  you  to  a  man  who,  if  he  has  a  mind, 
can  help  you  to  a  chance  of  a  favorable  interview  with  Scala 
sooner  than  any  l)ody  else  in  Florence — worth  seeing  for  his 
own  sake  too,  to  say  nothing  of  his  collections,  or  of  his  daugh- 
ter Romola,  who  is  as  fair  as  the  Florentine  lily  before  it  got 
quarrelsome  atid  turned  red." 

''But  if  this  father  of  the  beautiful  Romola  makes  collec- 
tions, why  sIumiM  lie  not  like  to  buy  some  of  my  gems  himself  ?" 

Nello  shrugged  his  shoidders.  "For  two  good  reasons — 
want  of  sight  to  look  at  the  gems,  and  want  of  money  to  pay 


ROMOLA.  45 

foi*  them.  Oui'  old  Bardo  de'  Bardi  is  so  blind  that  he  can 
see  no  more  of  his  daughter  than,  as  he  says,  a  glimmering  of 
something  bright  Avhen  she  comes  very  near  him :  doubtless 
her  golden  hair,  which,  as  Messer  Luigi  Pulci  says  of  his  Me- 
ridiana's, '  rafjgla  come  stdlaper  sereno?  Ah,  here  come  some 
clients  of  mine,  and  1  shouldn't  wonder  if  one  of  them  could 
serve  your  turn  about  that  rin*." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

FIRST    IMPRESSIOXS. 


"  Good-DAT,  Messer  Domenico,''  said  Nello  to  the  foremost 
of  the  two  visitors  who  entered  the  shop,  while  he  nodded  si- 
lently to  the  other.  "  You  come  as  opportunely  as  cheese  on 
macaroni.  Ah  !  you  are  in  haste — Avish  to  be  shaved  without 
delay — ecco  !  And  this  is  a  morning  when  every  one  has 
grave  matter  on  his  mind.  Florence  orphaned — the  very  pivot 
of  Italy  snatched  away — heaven  itself  at  a  loss  what  to  do 
next.  Lasso  !  "Well,  well ;  the  sun  is  nevertheless  travelling  on 
towards  dinner-time  again ;  and,  as  I  was  saying,  you  come  like 
cacio  alia  lasagna.  For  tliis  young  stranger  was  wishing  for 
an  honorable  trader  who  would  advance  him  a  sum  on  a  cer- 
tain ring  of  value,  and  if  I  had  counted  every  goldsmith  and 
money-lender  in  Florence  on  my  fingers  I  couldn't  have  found 
a  better  name  than  Menico  Cennini.  Besides,  he  hath  other 
ware  in  which  you  deal — Greek  learning  and  young  eyes — a 
double  implement  which  you  printers  are  always  in  need  of." 

The  grave,  elderly  man,  son  of  that  Bernardo  Cennini  avIio, 
twenty  years  before,  having  heard  of  the  new  process  of  print- 
ing carried  on  by  Germans,  had  cast  his  own  types  in  Florence, 
remained  necessarily  in  lathered  silence  and  passivity  Avhile 
Nello  showered  this  talk  in  his  ears,  but  turned  a  slow,  side- 
way  gaze  on  the  stranger. 

"  This  fine  young  man  has  unlimited  Greek,  Latin,  or  Italian 
at  your  service,"  continued  Nello,  fond  of  interpreting  by  very 
ample  paraphrase.  "He  is  as  great  a  wonder  of  juvenile 
learning  as  Francesco  Filelfo  or  our  own  incomparable  Polizi- 
ano.  A  second  Guarino,  too,  forhe  has  had  the  misfortune  to  be 
shipwrecked,  and  has  doubtless  lost  a  store  of  precious  manu- 
scripts that  might  have  contributed  some  correctness  even  to 
your  correct  editions,  Domenico.  Fortunately  he  has  rescued 
a  few  gems  of  rare  value.  His  name  is — you  said  your  name, 
Messer,  was —  ?" 

"  Tito  Melema,"  said  the  stranger,  slipping  the  ring  from 


46  ROMOLA, 

liis  finger  .ituI  presenting  it  to  Cennini,  whom  Nello,  not  less 
raj)i(l  with  his  razor  than  with  liis  tongue,  had  now  released 
from  tlu'  sliaving-cloth. 

]Nk'an\vhilu  the  man  who  had  entered  the  shop  in  company 
witli  the  goUhsmith — a  tall  figure,  about  fifty,  with  a  short- 
trimmed  heard,  wearing  an  oUl  felt  hat  and  a  thread-lcire  man- 
tle— had  kept  his  eye  fixed  on  the  Greek,  and  now  said,  ab- 
ruj)tly, 

"  Voung  man,  T  am  ])ainting  a  picture  of  Sinon  deceiving 
,old  Priain^aml  1  sliould  Im  glad  of  your  face  for  my  Sinon,  if 
yoltM  give  me  a  sitting." 

Tito  Melema  started  and  looked  round  with  a  pale  astonish- 
ment in  liis  face,  as  if  at  a  sudden  accusation  ;  but  Xell<)  left 
him  no  time  to  feel  at  a  loss  for  an  answer:  "  Piero,"  said  tiie 
barber,  "  thou  art  the  most  extraordinary  compound  of  humors 
and  fancies  ever  packed  into  a  human  skin.  What  trick  wilt 
thou  i)lav  with  the  fine  visaije  of  tliis  vouncr  scholar  to  make 
it  suit  thy  traitor?  Ask  iiim  rather  t<j  turn  his  eyes  upward, 
and  tliou  mayst  make  a  Saint  Sebastian  of  him  that  will  draw 
troops  of  devout  women  ;  or,  if  thou  art  in  a  classical  vein,  put 
myrtle  about  his  curls  and  make  him  a  young  Bacchus,  or  say 
rather  a  Phcebus  Apollo,  for  his  face  is  as  warm  and  bi'iglitas 
a  summer  morning;  it  made  me  bis  friend  in  the  space  of  a 
credo." 

"  Ay,  Nello,"  said  the  painter,  speaking  with  abrupt  pauses ; 
"and  if  thy  tongue  can  leave  off  its  everhasting  chirping  long 
enougli  for  tliy  understanding  to  consider  the  matter,  thou 
mayst  see  that  thou  hast  just  shown  the  reason  why  the  face 
of  Messer  will  suit  my  traitor.  A  perfect  traitor  should  have 
a  face  which  vice  can  write  no  marks  on — lips  that  will  lie 
with  a  dimplcfl  smile — eyes  of  such  agatedike  brightness  and 
depth  that  no  infamy  can  dtdl  them — cheeks  that  will  rise  from 
a  murder  and  not  look  haggard.  I  say  not  this  young  man  is 
a  traitor:  I  mean,  he  has  the  face  that  woiild  make  him  the 
more  perfect  traitor  if  he  had  the  heart  of  one,  which  is  saying 
ni'ifher  more  or  less  than  that  he  has  a  beautiful  face,  informed 
with  ricii  yoiing  blood,  that  will  be  nourished  enough  by  food, 
and  keep  its  color  without  much  help  of  virtue.  IIi-  may  have 
the  lieart  of  a  hero  along  with  it ;  I  aver  nothing  to  the  con- 
trary. Ask  Domenico  there  if  the  la))idaries  can  always  tell 
.1  gem  by  the  sight  alone.  And  nowFm  going  to  put  the  tow 
in  my  ears,  for  thy  chatter  and  the  bells  together  are  more 
th.in  I  can  endure;  so  sav  no  more  to  me,  but  trim  my 
bear.l." 

With  these  last  words  Piero  (called  "  di  Cosimo,"  fi'om  his 
master,  Cosimo  Kosselli)  drew  out  two  bits  of  tow,  stuffed 


ROSIOLA.  47 

them  ill  his  ears,  and  placed  himself  in  the  chair  before  Nello, 
who  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  cast  a  grimacing  look  of  in- 
telligenceat  the  Greek,  as  much  as  to  say, "  A  whimsical  fel- 
low, you  perceive  !  Every  body  holds  his  speeches  as  mere 
jokes  !" 

Tito,  who  had  stood  transfixed,  with  his  long  dark  eyes  rest- 
ing  on  the  unknown  man  who  had  addressed  him  so  equivo- 
cally, seemed  recalled  to  his  self-command  by  Piero's  change 
of  position,  and,  apparently  satisfied  with  his  explanation,  was 
again  giving  his  attention  to  Cennini,  who  presently  said, 

"This  is  a  curious  and  a  valuable  ring,  young  man.  This 
intaglio  of  the  fish  with  the  crested  serpent  above  it,  in  the 
black  stratum  of  the  onyx,  or  rather  nicolo,  is  well  shown  by 
the  surrounding  blue  of  the  upper  stratum.  The  ring  has 
doubtless  a  history  ?"  added  Cennini,  looking  up  keenly  at  the 
young  stranger. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Tito,  meeting  the  scrutiny  very  frank- 
ly. "The  ring  was  found  in  Sicily,  and  I  have  understood 
from  those  who  busy  themselves  with  gems  and  sigils,  that  both 
the  stone  and  intaglio  are  of  virtue  to  make  the  wearer  fortu- 
nate, especially  at  sea,  and  also  to  restore  to  him  whatever  he 
may  have  lost.  But,"  he  continued,  smiling,  "  though  I  have 
worn  it  constantly  since  I  quitted  Greece,  it  has  not  made  me 
altogether  fortunate  at  sea,  you  perceive,  unless  I  am  to  count 
escape  from  drowning  as  a  sufficient  proof  of  its  virtue.  It 
remains  to  be  seen  whether  my  lost  chests  will  come  to  light; 
but  to  lose  no  chance  of  such  a  result,  Messer,  I  Avill  pray  you 
only  to  hold  the  ring  for  a  short  space  as  pledge  for  a  small 
sum  far  beneath  its  value,  and  I  Avill  redeem  it  as  soon  as  1 
can  dispose  of  certain  other  gems  which  are  secured  within 
my  doublet,  or  indeed  as  soon  as  I  can  earn  something  by  any 
scholarly  employment,  if  I  may  be  so  fortunate  as  to  meet 
with  such." 

"  That  may  be  seen,  young  man,  if  you  will  come  with  me," 
said  Cennini.  "  My  brother  Pietro,  who  is  a  better  judge  of 
scholarship  than  I,  will  perhaps  be  able  to  supply  you  with  a 
task  that  may  test  your  capabilities.  Meanwhile,  take  back 
your  ring  until  I  can  hand  you  the  necessary  florins,  and,  if  it 
please  you,  come  along  with  me." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Nello,  "  go  with  Messer  Domenico ;  you 
can  not  go  in  better  company ;  he  was  born  under  the  constel- 
lation that  gives  a  man  skill,  riches,  and  integrity,  whatever 
that  constellation  may  be,  which  is  of  the  less  consequence  be- 
cause babies  can't  choose  their  own  horsoscopes,  and  indeed, 
if  they  could,  there  might  be  an  inconvenient  rush  of  babies 
at  i):-irticular  epochs.     Besides,  our  Phoenix,  the  incomparable 


48  EOMOLA. 

Pico,  lias  shown  tliat  your  horoscopes  are  all  a  nonsensical 
dream — wliieli  is  tlie  less  troublesome  opiiiiun.  Addio,  hd  (jio- 
vanc  !  don't  forget  to  come  hack  to  iml'." 

"  No  fear  of  that,"  said  Tito,  beekonintj  a  farewell,  as  he 
tiirriiMl  rmuid  his  hriLjIit  fare  at  the  door.  "  You  are  to  do  me 
a  Lcrcat  servit-e — that  is  the  most  positive  security  for  your  see 
in";  me  ai^ain." 

"  Say  what  thou  wilt,  Piero,"  said  Nello,  as  the  youui;  stran- 
gle!* disappeare<l,  ''  I  shall  never  look  at  such  an  outside  as 
that  without  takiiit;  it  as  a  sign  of  a  lovable  nature.  Suffo- 
cation !  why,  thou  wilt  say  next  that  Lionardo,  whom  thou 
art  always  raving  about,  ought  to  have  made  Ids  Judas  as 
beautiful  as  St.  .lohu  !  But  tiiou  art  as  deaf  as  the  top  of 
Mount  ]\Iorello  with  that  accursed  tow  in  thy  ears.  Well, 
well :  ril  get  a  little  more  of  this  young  man's  history  froixi 
him  before  I  take  \\n\\  to  Bardo  Bardi." 


CHAPTER  V. 

Tllk  BLIND  SCHOLAR  AND   HIS  DAUGHTER, 

The  Via  de'  Bardi,  a  street  noted  in  the  history  of  Florence, 
lies  in  Oltrarno,  or  that  ptution  of  the  city  which  clothes  the 
southern  bank  of  the  river.  It  extends  from  the  Ponte  Veo- 
chio  to  the  Piazza  de'  Mozzi  at  the  heail  of  the  Ponte  alle  Gra- 
zie;  its  right-hand  line  of  houses  and  walls  being  backed  by 
the  rather  steep  ascent  which  in  the  Hfteenth  century  was 
known  as  the  hill  of  Bogoli,  the  famous  stone-qiiarry  whence 
the  city  got  its  jiavement — of  dangerously  unstable  consistence 
when  penetrated  by  rains;  its  left-hand  buildings  flanking  the 
river  and  making  on  their  northern  side  a  length  of  (juaint, 
irregularly  ])ierced  fa(;ade,  of  which  the  waters  give  a  softened 
loving  reflection  as  the  sun  begins  to  decline  towards  the  west- 
ern lu'ights.  J>ut  (plaint  as  these  buildings  are,  some  of  them 
seem  to  the  historical  memory  a  too  modern  substitute  for  the 
fanutus  housi's  of  the  Bardi  family,  destroyed  by  popidar  rage 
in  the  middle  of  the  fourteenth  century. 

They  were  a  jtroud  and  energetic  stock,  these  Bardi:  con- 
spicuous among  those  who  clutched  the  swonl  in  tlie  earliest 
worM-famoiis  fpiarrels  of  Florentines  Avith  Florentines,  when 
the  narrow  streets  were  darkened  with  the  high  towers  of  the 
nobles,  and  when  the  old  tutelar  god  Mars,  as  he  saw  the  gut- 
ters redileued  with  neighbors'.blood,  might  well  have  smiled 
at  thi'  centuries  of  lip  service  ])aid  to  his  rival,  the  Baptist. 
But  the  J3ardi  hands  were  of  the  sort  that  not  only  clutch  the 


KOMOLA.  49 

sword-hilt  with  vigor,  but  love  the  more  delicate  pleasure  of 
fingering  minted  metal;  they  were  matched,  too,  with  true 
Florentine  eyes,  capable  of  discerning  that  power  was  to  be 
won  by  other  means  than  by  rending  and  riving,  and  by  the 
middle  of  the  fourteenth  century  we  find  them  risen  from 
their  original  condition  of  pojyolcoii  to  be  possessors,  by  pur- 
chase, of  lands  and  strongholds,  and  tlie  feudal  dignity  of 
Counts  of  Vernio,  disturbing  to  the  jealousy  of  their  republi- 
can fellow-citizens.  These  lordly  purchases  are  explained  by 
our  seeing  the  Bardi  disastrously  signalized  only  a  few  years 
later  as  standing  in  the  very  front  of  European  coiumerce — 
the  Christian  Rothschilds  of  tliat  time — undertaking  to  furnish 
specie  for  the  wars  of  our  Edward  the  Third,  and  having  rev- 
enues "  in  kind  "  made  over  to  them  ;  especially  in  wool,  most 
precious  of  freights  for  Florentine  galleys.  Their  august 
debtor  left  them  with  an  august  deficit,  and  alaraied  Sicilian 
creditors  made  a  too  sudden  demand  for  the  payment  of  de- 
posits, causing  a  ruinous,  shock  to  the  credit  of  the  Bardi  and 
that  of  associated  houses,  Avhich  was  felt  as  a  commercial 
calamity  along  all  the  coasts  of  the  Mediterranean.  But,  like 
more  modern" bankrupts,  they  did  not,  for  all  that,  hide  their 
heads  in  humiliation  ;  on  the  contrary,  they  seem  to  have  held 
them  higher  than  ever,  and  to  have  been  among  the  most  ar- 
rogant of  those  grand't,  who,  under  certain  noteworthy  circum- 
stances, open  to  all  wlio  will  read  the  honest  pages  of  Giovanni 
Villani,  drew  upon  themselves  the  exasperation  of  the  armed 
people  in  1343.  The  Bardi,  who  had  made  themselves  fast  in 
their  street  between  tlie  two  bridges,  kept  these  narrow  inlets 
like  panthers  at  bay  agaijist  the  oncoming  gonfalons  of  the 
people,  and  were  only  made  to  give  way  by  an  assault  from  the 
hill  behind  them.  Tlieir  houses  by  the  river,  to  the  number 
of  twenty-two  {palagl  e  case  f/mndi),  were  sacked  and  burned, 
and  many  among  the  chief  of  those  who  bore  the  Bardi  name 
were  driven  from  the  city.  But  an  old  Florentine  family  was 
manv-rooted,  and  we  find  the  Bardi  maintaining  importance 
and  Vising  again  and  again  to  the  surface  of  Floi'entine  affairs 
in  a  more  orless  creditable  manner,  implying  an  untold  family 
history  that  would  have  included  even  more  vicissitudes  and 
contrasts  of  dignity  and  disgrace,  of  wealth  and  poverty,  than 
are  usually  seen  on  the  back-ground  of  wide  kinship.*     But 

*  A  sign  that  such  contrasts  were  peculiarly  frequent  in  Florence?  is  the  fact 
that  Saint  Antonine,  Prior  of  San  Marco,  and  afterwards  archbisho]3,  in  the  tirst 
half  of  this  fifteenth  centmy,  founded  the  society  of  Buonuomini  di  San  Martino 
(Good  Men  of  St.  ]Martin)'with  the  main  object  of  succoring  the  poveri  veri/off- 
nosi — in  other  words,  paupers  of  good  taniily.  In  tha  records  of  the  famous 
Panciatichi  tamily  we  find  a  certain  Girolamo  in  thiscentury  who  was  reduced 

3 


50  KOMOLA. 

the  Bardi  never  resumed  their  proprietorsliip  in  tlie  old  street 
on  the  banks  of  the  river, -wliich  in  14H2  liad  loni;  bei'n  asso- 
ciated witli  otlier  names  of  mark,  and  csj)ecially  witli  tlie  Neri, 
who  ])ossessed  a  considerahle  range  of  houses  on  tlie  side  to- 
wards tlie  liill.  In  one  of  these  Neri  houses  tliere  lived,  how- 
ever, a  descendant  of  the  Bardi,  and  of  that  very  braneli  which 
a  century  and  a  half  before  had  become  Counts  of  W-rnio  :  a 
i^descendant  who  had  inherited  the  old  family  j)ride  and  energy, 
the  old  love  of  pre-eminence,  the  old  desire  to  leave  a  lasting 
track  of  his  footsteps  on  tiic  fast-whirling  earth.  JJut  the 
family  passions  lived  on  in  him  under  altered  conditions :  this 
descendant  of  the  Bardi  was  not  a  man  swift  in  street  warfare, 
or  one  wlio  loved  to  nlav  the  sirjnor,  fortifvini;  strong-holds 
and  asserting  the  right  to  hang  vassals,  or  a  merchant  and 
usurer  of  keen  daring,  who  delighted  in  the  generalship  of  wide 
connnercial  schemes  :  he  was  a  man  with  a  deep-veined  hand 
cramped  by  much  copying  of  manuscrii)ts,  who  ate  sparing 
dinjiers,  and  M'ore  threadbare  clothes,  at  first  from  choice  and 
at  last  from  necessity ;  who  sat  among  his  books  and  his  mar- 
ble fragments  of  tlie  ])ast,  and  saw  them  only  by  the  light  of 
those  far-off  younger  days  which  still  shone  in  his  memory: 
he  was  a  moneyless,  blind  old  scholar — the  Bardo  de'  Bardi  to 
M-hom  Xello,  the  barber,  had  promised  to  introduce  the  young 
Greek,  Tito  JMelema. 

The  house  in  which  Bardo  lived  Avas  situated  on  the  side  of 
the  street  nearest  the  hill,  and  was  one  of  those  large  sombre 
masses  of  stone  building  pierced  by  comjiaratively  small  win- 
dows, and  surmounted  by  what  may  be  called  a  roofed  terrace 
or  loggia,  of  which  there  are  many  examples  still  to  be  seen  in 
the  venerable  city.  Grim  doors,  with  consj)icuous  scrolled 
hinges,  having  higli  uj)  on  each  side  of  them  a  stnall  window 
<lufended  by  iron  bars,  opened  on  a  groined  entrance-court, 
emjjty  of  every  thing  but  a  massive  lamp-iron  suspended  from 
the  centre  of  the  groin.  A  small  grim  door  on  the  left  hand 
admitted  to  the  stone  staircase  and  the  rooms  on  the  ground- 
floor.  These  last  were  used  as  a  warehouse  by  the  i)roprietor ; 
so  was  the  first  floor ;  and  both  were  fitted  with  ])reciou3 
stores,  destined  to  be  carried,  some  perhaps  to  the  l)anks  of  the 
Scheldt,  some  to  tlie  shores  of  AfiicM,  some  to  tlie  isles  of  the 
yEgean,  or  to  the  banks  of  the  Euxine.  IMaso,  the  old  serving- 
man,  who  returiKMl  from  the  INIercato  with  the  stock  of  cheap 
vegetables,  hatl  to  make  his  slow  way  up  to  the  second  story 
before  he  reached  the  door  of  his  master,  Bardo,  through  which 

to  siuh  a  state  of  poverty  that  he  was  obliged  to  seek  diaiity  for  the  mere 
means  <if  sustiiiiiijig  life,  though  other  mcmbere  of  his  family  were  enormoas- 
ly  wealthy. 


ROMOLA.  51 

we  are  about  to  enter  only  a  few  mornings  after  Nello's  con- 
versation witii  the  Greek. 

We  follow  Maso  across  the  antechamber  to  the  door  on  tlie 
left  hand,  through  which  we  pass  as  he  opens  it.  He  merely 
looks  in  and  nods,  while  a  clear  young  voice  says,  "  Ah,  you 
are  come  back,  Maso.     It  is  well.     We  have  wanted  nothing." 

The  voice  came  from  the  farther  end  of  a  long,  spacious  room 
surrounded  with  shelves,  on  which  books  and  antiquities  were 
arranged  in  scrupulous  order.  Here  and  there,  on  separate 
stands  in  front  of  the  shelves,  were  placed  a  beautiful  feminine 
torso;  a  headless  statue,  with  an  uplifted  muscular  arm  wield- 
ing a  bladeless  sword  ;  rounded,  dimpled,  infantine  limbs  sev- 
ered from  the  trunk,  inviting  the  lips  to  kiss  the  cold  marble ; 
some  well-preserved  Roman  busts  ;  and  two  or  three  vases  of 
Magna  Gi-recia.  A  large  table  in  the  centre  was  covered  with 
antique  bronze  lamps  and  small  vessels  in  dark  pottery.  The 
color  of  these  objects  was  chiefly  pale  or  sombre  ;  the  vellum 
bindings,  with  their  deep-ridged  backs,  gave  little  relief  to  the 
marble  livid  with  long  burial ;  the  once  splendid  patch  of  carpet 
at  the  farther  end  of  the  room  had  long  been  worn  to  dimness ; 
the  dark  bronzes  wanted  sunlight  upon  them  to  bring  out  their 
tinge  of  green,  and  the  sun  was  not  yet  high  enough  to  send 
gleams  of  brightness  through  the  narrow  windows  that  looked 
on  the  Via  de'  Bardi. 

The  only  spot  of  bright  color  in  the  room  was  made  by  the 
hair  of  a  tall  maiden  of  seventeen  or  eighteen,  who  was  stand- 
ing before  a  carved  leggio,  or  i-eading-desk,  such  as  is  often 
seen  in  the  choirs  of  Italian  churches.  The  Jiair  was  of  a  red- 
dish gold  color,  enriched  by  an  unbroken  small  ripple,  such  as 
may  be  seen  in  the  sunset  clouds  on  grandest  autumnal  evenings. 
It  was  confined  by  a  black  fillet  above  her  small  ears,  from 
Avhich  it  ri])pled  forward  again,  and  made  a  natural  veil  for  her 
neck  above  her  square-cut  gown  of  black  rascia,  or  serge.  Her 
eyes  were  bent  on  a  large  volume  placed  before  her :  one  long 
white  hand  rested  on  the  reading-desk,  and  the  other  clasped 
the  back  of  her  father's  chair. 

The  blind  father  sat  with  head  uplifted  and  turned  a  little 
aside  1;owards  his  daughter,  as  if  he  were  looking  at  her.  His 
delicate  paleness,  set  off  l)y  the  black  velvet  cap  which  sur- 
mounted his  drooping  white  hair, 'made  all  the  more  percepti- 
ble the  likeness  between  his  aged  features  and  those  of  the 
young  maiden,  whose  cheeks  Avere  also  without  any  ting^  of 
the  rose.  There  was  the  same  refinement  of  brow  and  nostril 
in  both,  counterbalanced  by  a  full  though  firm  mouth  and 
powerful  chin,  Avhich  gave  an  expression  of  proud  tenacity 
and  latent  impetuousness :   an  expression  carried  out  in  the 


Tlu  bliftd  Scholar  ana 


ill    n  ;j    I  '.i . 


.;j,/—i .>..,.  ii. 


ROMOLA.  63 

backward  poise  of  the  giiTs  head,  and  the  grand  line  of  her 
neck  and  shoulders.  It  was  a  type  of  face  of  which  one  could 
not  venture  to  say  whether  it  would  inspire  love  or  only  that 
unwilling  admiration  which  is  mixed  with  dread  ;  the  question 
must  be  decided  by  the  eyes,  which  often  seem  charged  with 
a  more  direct  message  from  the  soul.  But  the  eyes  of  the 
father  had  long  been  silent,  and  the  eyes  of  the  daughter  were 
bent  on  the  Latin  pages  of  Politian's  Miscellanea,  from  Avhich 
she  was  reading  aloud  at  the  eightietli  chapter,  to  the  follow- 
ing effect : 

"  There  was  a  certain  nymph  of  Thebes  named  Chariclo, 
especially  dear  to  Pallas  ;  and  this  nymph  was  the  mother  of 
Teiresias.  But  once  when,  in  the  heat  of  summer,  Pallas,  in 
company  with  Chariclo,  was  bathing  her  disrobed  limbs  in 
the  Heliconian  Hippocrene,  it  happened  that  Teiresias  coming 
as  a  hunter  to  quench  his  thirst  at  the  same  fountain,  inad- 
vertently beheld  Minerva  unveiled,  and  immediately  became 
blind.  For  it  is  declared  in  the  Saturnian  laws  that  he  who 
beholds  the  gods  against  their  Avill  shall  atone  for  it  by  a 
heavy  penalty When  Teiresias  had  fallen  into  this  ca- 
lamity, Pallas,  moved  by  the  tears  of  Chariclo,  endowed  him 
with  prophecy  and  length  of  days,  and  even  caused  his  pru- 
dence and  wisdom  to  continue  after  he  had  entered  among  the 
shades,  so  that  an  oracle  spake  from  his  tomb  ;  and  she  gave 
him  a  staff,  wherewith,  as  by  a  guide,  he  might  walk  Avithout 

stumbling And  hence  Nonnus,  in  the  tifth  book  of  the 

Dionysiaca,  introduces  Actfeon  exclaiming  that  lie  calls  Tei- 
resias happy,  since,  without  dying,  and  Avith  the  loss  of  his 
eyesight  merely,  he  had  beheld  Minerva  unveiled,  and  thus, 
thoug^h  blind,  could  for  e\'ermore  carry  her  image  in  his 
soul." 

At  this  point  in  the  reading  the  daughter's  hand  slipped 
from  the  back  of  the  chair  and  met  her  father's,  Avhich  he  had 
that  moment  uplifted  ;  but  she  had  not  looked  round,  and  Avas 
going  on,  though  Avith  a  voice  a  little  altered  by  some  sup- 
pressed feeling^to  read  the  Greek  quotation  from  Nonnus, 
when  the  old  man  said  : 

"  Stay,  Romola  ;  reach  me  my  oaa'u  copy  of  Nonnus.  It  is 
a  more  correct  copy  than  any  in  Poliziano's  liands,  for  I  made 
emendations  in  it  Avhich  have  not  yet  been  communicated  to 
any  man.  I  finished  it  in  1477,  Avhen  my  sight  Avas  fast  faiUng 
me." 

Romola  walked  to  the  farther  end  of  the  room,  with  the 
queenly  step  Avhich  Avas  the  simple  action  of  her  tall,  iinely- 
Avrought  frame,  Avithout  the  slightest  conscious  adjustment  oi 
herself. 


54  ROM  OLA. 

"  Is  it  in  llu'  rig)it  itlaeo,  Komola?"  asked  IJanln,  wlio  was 
perpetually  scekini;  the  assurance  that  the  outward  fact  con- 
tinued to  corresi)ond  with  the  image  which  lived  to  the  mi- 
nutest detail  in  liis  mind. 

*' Yes,  father;  at  the  west  end  of  tlic  luom,  on  the  third 
shelf  from  the  bottom,  behind  the  bust  of  IIa<lrian,  above 
ApoUonius  llhodius  and  Callimachus,  and  below  Lucan  and 
Silius  Italicus." 

As  Komola  said  tliis  a  fine  ear  would  have  detected  in  her 
clear  voice  and  distinct  utterance  a  faint  suggestion  of  weari- 
ness struggling  with  habitual  patience.  But  as  she  approach- 
ed her  father,  and  saw  his  arms  stretched  out  a  little  with 
nervous  excitement  to  seize  the  volume,  her  hazel  eyes  filled 
Avith  ])ity  ;  she  hastened  to  lay  the  book  on  his  lap,  and  knoel- 
ed  down  by  him,  looking  up  at  him  as  if  she  believed  that  the 
love  in  her  face  must  surely  make  its  way  through  the  dark 
obstruction  that  shut  out  every  thing  else.  At  that  moment 
the  doubtful  attractiveness  of  Romola's  face,  in  which  pride 
and  passion  seemed  to  be  quivering  in  tlie  balance  with  native 
refinement  and  intelligence,  was  transfigured  to  tlie  most  lov- 
able womanliness  by  mingled  pity  and  affection  :  it  was  evi- 
dent that  the  deepest  fount  of  feeling  within  her  had  not  yet 
wrouLrlit  its  wav  to  the  less  changeful  features,  and  onlv  found 
its  outlet  through  her  eyes. 

But  the  fatiier,  uilconscious  of  that  soft  radiance,  looked 
flushed  and  agitated  as  his  hand  explored  the  edges  and  back 
of  the  large  book. 

"The  vellum  is  yell<nved  in  these  thirteen  years,  Tlomola ?" 

"  Yes,  father,"  said  Komola,  gently  ;  "but  your  Icttei-s  at 
the  back  are  d:uk  and  plain  still — tine  lionian  letters  ;  and  the 
Greek  character,"  she  continued,  laying  the  book  open  on  her 
father's  knee,  "  is  more  beautiful  than  that  of  any  of  your 
bought  manuscripts." 

"Assuredly,  (;hild,"  said  IJardo,  passing  his  finger  across 
the  ])age  as  if  lie  hoped  to  discriminate  line  and  margin. 
"  What  hireil  amanuensis  i-an  l)e  equal  to  the  scribe  who  loves 
the  words  tliat  grow  under  his  hand,  aiul  to  whom  an  error  or 
indistinctness  in  the  text  is  more  painful  than  a  sudden  dark- 
ness or  obstacle  across  his  ])ath  ?  Ajid  even  these  mechanical 
j»rinters  who  threaten  to  make  learning  a  base  and  vulgar 
thing — even  they  must  depend  on  the  maiuiscript  over  wliich 
we  scholars  have  bent  with  that  insight  into  the  poet's  mean- 
ing which  is  closely  akin  to  the  mens  dirinior  of  the  poet 
himself — unless  they  would  Hood  the  world  with  grammatical 
falsities  and  inexplicable  anomalies  that  would  turn  the  very 
fountains  of  Parnassus  into  a  deluge  of  poisonous  mud.     But 


EOMOLA.  55 

find  the  passage  in  the  fifth  book  to  whicli  Poliziano  refers. 
I  know  it  very  well." 

Seating  herself  on  a  low  stool  close  to  her  father's  knee, 
Roraola  took  the  book  on  her  lap  and  read  the  four  verses 
containing  the  exclamation  of  Action. 

"  It  is  true,  Roraola,"  said  Bardo,  Avhen  she  had  finished ; 
"it  IS  a  true  conception  of  the  poet ;  for. what  is  that  grosser, 
narrower  light  by  which  men  behold  merely  the  petty  scene 
around  them,  compared  with  that  far-stretching,  lasting  light 
which  spreads  over  centuries  of  thought,  and  over  the  life  o£ 
nations,  and  makes  clear  to  us  the  minds  of  the  immortals 
who  have  reaped  the  great  harvest  and  left  us  to  glean  in 
their  furrows?  For  me,  Romola,  even  Avhen  I  could  see,  it  ^ 
was  Avith  the  great  dead  that  I  lived  ;  while  the  living  often  j 
seemed  to  me  mere  spectres—shadows  dispossessed  of  true 
feeling  and  intelligence  ;  and  unlike  those  LaniiiB  to  whom 
Poliziano,  with  that  superficial  ingenuity  which  I  do  not  deny 
to  him,  compares  our  inquisitive  Florentines,  because  they  put 
on  their  eyes  when  they  went  abroad,  and  took  them  off  when 
they  got  home  again,  I  have  returned  from  the  converse  of  the 
streets  as  from  a  forgotten  dream,  and  have  sat  down  among 
my  books,  saying  with  Petrarca,  the  modei-n  who  is  least  un- 
worthy to  be"  na'med  after  the  ancients,  '  Libri  meduUitus  de- 
lectant,  colloquuntur,  consulunt,  et  viva  quadam  nobis  atque 
arguta  familiaritate  junguntur.'  " 

"And  in  one  thing  you  are  happier  than  your  favorite  Pe- 
trarca, father,"  said  Romola,  affectionately  humoring  the  old 
man's  disposition  to  dilate  in  this  way ;  "  for  he  used  to  look 
at  his  copy  of  Homer  and  think  sadly  that  the  Greek  was  a 
dead  letter  to  him  :  so  far,  he  had  the  inward  blindness  that 
you  feel  is  worse  than  your  outward." 

"  True,  child  ;  for  I  carry  within  me  the  fruits  of  that  fervid 
study  which  I  gave  to  the  Greek  tongue  under  the  teaching  of 
the  younger  Crisolora,  and  Filelfo,  and  Argiropulo,  though 
that  great  work  in  which  I  had  desired  to  gather,  as  into  a 
firm  web,  all  the  threads  that  my  research  had  laboriously  dis- 
entangled, and  which  would  have  been  the  vintage  of  my  life, 
was  cut  off  by  the  failure  of  my  sight  and  my  want  of  a  fitting 
coadjutor;  for  the  sustained  zeal  and  unconquerable  patience 
demanded  from  those  who  would  tread  the  unbeaten  paths 
of  knowledge  are  still  less  reconcilable  with  the  wandering, 
vagrant  propensity  of  the  feminine  mind  than  with  the  feeble 
powers  of  the  feminine  body." 

"Father,"  said  Romola,  with  a  sudden  flush  and  an  injured 
tone,  "  I  read  anv  thing  you  wish  me  to  read  ;  and  I  will  look 
out  any  passages  for  you,  and  make  whatever  notes  you  want. 


56  ROMOLA. 

li.-irdo  sliook  liis  head  ajid  sniilod  with  a  Ititfcr  sort  of  pity. 
"As  well  try  to  l»o  :v  iieiitatlilos  and  perform  all  tiie  tive  ieatij 
of  the  i)ala'stia  with  the  limbs  of  a  nymph.  Have  I  forgotten 
thv  faintinii'  in  the  mere  search  for  the  references  I  needed  to 
e.\])lain  a  siiitxle  ))assa<re  of  C'allimachus  ?' 

"  liut,  father,  it  was  tiie  weight  of  the  books,  and  Maso  can 
help  me — it  Avas  not  want  of  attention  and  patience." 

iiardo  sliook  his  head  again.  "  It  is  not  mere  bodily  or- 
gans that  I  want:  it  is  the  sharp  edge  of  a  young  mind  to 
pierce  the  way  for  my  somewhat  blunted  faculties.  For  blind- 
ness acts  like  adam,  sending  the  streams  of  thought  backward 
along  the  .already-travelled  chaanels  and  hindering  the  course 
onward.  If  my  son  had  not  torsaken  me,  deluded  by  debasing 
fanatical  dreams,  Avorthy  only  of  an  energnmen  whose  dwell- 
ing is  among  tombs,  I  might  have  gone  on  and  seen  my  path 
broadening  to  the  end  of  my  life  ;  lor  he  was  a  youth  of  great 
promise But  it  has  closed  in  now,"  the  old  man  contin- 
ued, after  a  short  pause ;  "  it  liOvS  closed  in  now — all  but  tho 
narrow  track  he  has  left  me  to  tread — alone,  in  my  blindness." 

Itomola  started  from  her  seat  and  carried  away  the  large 
volume  to  its  |)lace  again,  stung  too  acutely  by  her  fatlier's  last 
words  to  remain  motionless  as  well  as  silent;  and  Avhen  she 
turned  away  from  tlie  shelf  again,  she  remained  standing  at 
some  <listanco  from  him,  stretching  her  arms  downward  and 
clasping  her  fingers  tightly  as  she  looked  with  a  sad  (b'eariness 
in  her  young  face  at  the  lifeless  objects  arovuxl  her — the  parch- 
ment backs,  the  unchanging  mutilated  marble,  the  bits  of  ob- 
solete bronze  and  clay. 

15ardo,  though  nsually  suscej^tible  to  Romola's  movements 
and  eager  to  trace  them.  Mas  now  too  entirely  jireoccupied  by 
the  ])ain  of  rankling  memories  to  notice  her  tk])arture  from 
his  side. 

"  Yes,"  he  went  on,  "  wifh  my  son  to  aid  me,  I  might  have 
had  mvdue  share  in  the  triumphs  of  this  centurv  :  the  names 
of  the  ]>ardi,  father  and  son,  might  have  been  lield  reverently 
on  the  lips  of  scholars  in  the  ages  to  come ;  not  on  account  of 
frivolous  verses  or  j^hilosophic  treatises,  Avhich  are  superfluous 
and  ])resumptuous  attempts  to  imitate  the  iniinitaVile,  such  as 
allure  vain  men  like  Panhormita,  and  from  which  even  the  ad- 
miral^le  Poguio  did  not  keep  himsi-lf  siiJllciiMitly  free  ;  but  be- 
cause we  should  have  given  a  lamp  whereby  men  might  have 
Btudir-d  the  supreme  productions  of  the  ])ast.  For  why  is  a 
young  man  like  P(.)li/,iano,  who  was  not  yet  born  when  I  was 
alrea<ly  held  worthy  to  maintain  a  discussion  with  Thomas  of 
Sarzana,  to  h.-ive  a  glorious  memory  as  a  commentator  on  the 
Pandects — why  is  Ficino,  whose  Latin  in  an  offense  to  me, 


ROMOIA.  57 

and  who  wanders  purblind  amonof  the  superstitious  fancies 
that  marked  the  decline  at  once  of  art,  literature,  and  philoso- 
phy, to  descend  to  posterity  as  the  very  high-priest  of  Plato- 
nism,  while  I,  who  am  more  than  their  equal,  have  not  effected 
any  thing-  but  scattered  work,  which  Avill  be  appropriated  by 
othei-  men  ?  Why  ?  but  because  my  son,  whom  I  had  brought 
np  to  replenish  my  ripe  learning  with  young  enterprise,  left 
me  and  all  liberal  pursuits  that  he  might  lash  himself  and 
howl  at  midnight  with  besotted  friars — that  he  might  go  wan- 
dering on  pilgrimages  befitting  men  who  know  of  no  past 
olderlhan  the  missal  and  the  crucifix  ? — left  me  when  the  night 
was  already  beginning  to  fall  on  me  ?" 

In  these  last  M'ords  the  old  man's  voice,  which  had  risen 
high  in  indignant  protest,  fell  into  a  tone  of  reproach  so  trem- 
ulous and  plaintive  that  Romola,  turning  her  eyes  again  towards 
the  blind  aged  face,  felt  her  heart  swell  with  forgiving  pity. 
She  seated  herself  by  her  father  again  and  placed  her  hand  on 
his  knee  —  too  proud  to  obtrude  consolation  in  words  that 
might  seem  like  a  vindication  of  her  own  value,  yet  wishing 
X)  comfort  him  by  some  sign  of  her  presence. 

"  Yes,  Romola,"  said  Bardo,  automatically  letting  his  left 
hand,  with  its  massive  prophylactic  rings,  fall  a  little  too  heavi- 
ly on  the  delicate  blue-veined  back  of  the  girl's  right,  so  that 
she  bit  her  lip  to  prevent  herself  from  starting.  "If  even  Flor- 
ence only  is  to  remember  me,  it  can  but  be  on  the  same  ground 
that  it  will  remember  Xiceolo  Xiccoli — because  I  forsook  the 
vulgar  pursuit  of  wealth  in  commerce  that  I  might  devote  my- 
self to  coUectingthe  precious  remains  of  ancient  art  and  wisdom, 
and  leave  them,  after  the  example  of  the  munificent  Romans, 
for  an  everlasting  possession  to  my  fellow-citizens.  But  why 
do  I  say  Florence  only  ?  If  Florence  remembers  me,  will  not 
the  world  remember  me  ? .  .  . .  Yet,"  added  Bardo,  after  a 
Ehort  pause,  his  voice  falling  again  into  a  saddened  key,  ''  Lo- 
renzo's untimely  death  has  raised  a  new  difficulty.  I  had  his 
promise — I  should  have  had  his  bond — that  ray  collection 
should  always  bear  my  name  and  should  never  be  sold,  though 
the  harpies  might  clutch  every  thing  else  ;  but  there  is  enough 
for  them — there  is  more  than  enough — and  for  thee,  too,  Ro- 
mola, there  will  be  enough.  Besides,  thou  wilt  marry ;  Ber- 
nardo reproaches  me  that  I  do  not  seek  a  fitting  parentado 
for  thee,  and  we  will  delay  no  longer,  Ave  will  think  about  it." 

"  No,  no,  father ;  what  could  you  do  ?  besides,  it  is  useless : 
wait  till  some  one  seeks  me,"  said  Romola,  hastily. 

"  Nay,  my  child,  that  is  not  the  paternal  duty.  It  was  not 
so  held  by  the  ancients,  and  in  this  respect  Florentines  havo 
not  degenerated  from  their  ancestral  customs." 

3* 


58  KOMOLA. 

"But  I  will  stiuly  dilicjcntly,"  said  liomola,  her  eyes  dilat- 
ing with  anxifty.  "I  will  become  as  learned  as  Cassandra 
Fedele :  I  "will  try  and  bo  as  useful  to  you  as  if  I  liad  been  a 
boy,  and  then  |)erha))S  sotne  great  scholar  M'ill  want  to  marry 
rue,  and  will  not  mind  altout  a  dow  ry  ;  and  he  will  like  to 
come  and  live  with  you,  and  he  will  be  to  you  in  place  of  my 
brother  ....  and  you  will  not  be  sorry  that  I  was  a  daughter." 

There  was  a  rising  sob  in  Itomola's  voice  as  she  said  the 
last  words,  which  touched  the  fatherly  fibre  in  JJardo.  lie 
Btretched  his  hand  upward  a  little  in  search  of  her  golden  hair, 
and  as  she  placed  her  head  imder  Ids  hand,  he  gently  stroked 
it,  leaning  towards  her  as  if  his  eyes  discerned  some  grunnier 
there. 

"Nay,  Tiomola  mia,  I  said  not  so:  if  T  have  pronounced 
an  anathema  on  a  degenerate  and  ungrateful  son,  I  said  not 
that  I  could  wish  thee  other  than  the  sweet  daughter  thou 
hast  been  to  me.  For  what  son  could  have  tended  me  so 
gently  in  the  frequent  sickness  1  have  had  of  late?  And  even 
in  leai'ning  thou  art  not,  according  to  thy  measure,  contempti- 
ble. Something  ])erhaps  were  to  be  wished  in  thy  ca])acity  of 
attention  and  memoiy,  not  inc()mj)atible  even  with  the  femi- 
nine mind,  lint  as  Calcondila  bore  testimony  when  he  aided 
me  to  teach  tliee,  thou  hast  a  ready  ai)prcliension,  and  even  a 
wide-glancing  intelligence.  And  thou  hast  a  man's  nobility  of 
soul :  th(»u  hast  never  frett(>(l  me  with  thy  petty  desires  as  thy 
mother  tlid.  It  is  true,  I  liave  been  careful  to  keep  thee  aloof 
from  the  debasing  influence  of  thy  own  sex,  with  their  spar- 
row-like frivolity  and  their  enslaving  superstition,  except,  in- 
deed, from  that  of  our  cousin  J>rigi(hi,  who  may  well  serve 
as  a  scarecrow  and  a  warning.  ^\nd  though — since  I  agree 
with  the  divine  Petrarca,  when  he  declares,  quoting  the  Auhi- 
laria  of  Plaulus,  who  again  was  inJcbted  for  the  truth  to  the 
suprenu;  Greek  intellect, '  Optimam  fceminam  nuUam  esst,  alia 
licet  alia  pejor  sit' — I  can  not  boast  that  thou  art  entn'ely 
lifted  out  of  that  lower  category  to  which  Nature  assigned 
thee,  nor  even  that  in  erudition  thon  art  on  a  ]>ar  with  the 
more  learned  women  of  this  age;  thou  art  nevertheless — yes, 
Roniola  mia,"  said  the  old  man,  his  pedantry  again  melting 
into  tenderness,  "  thon  art  my  sweet  daughter,  and  thy  voice 
is  as  the  lower  notes  of  the  ilute, '  dulcis,  durabilis,  clara,  pura, 
secans  aera  et  auribus  sedens,'  according  to  the  choice  words 
of  Quint  ilian ;  and  Bernardo  tells  me  thou  art  fair,  and  thy 
hair  is  like  the  l)rightness  of  the  morning,  and  indeed  it  seems 
to  me  that  I  <liscern  some  radiatice  from  thee.  .\h  !  I  know 
liow  all  else  looks  in  this  room,  but  thy  form  I  only  guess  at. 
Thou  art  no  longer  the  little  woman  six  years  old,  that  faded 


ROM  OLA.  59 

for  me  into  darkness :  thou  art  tall,  and  thy  arm  is  but  little 
below  mine.     Let  us  walk  together." 

The  old  man  rose,  and  Romola,  soothed  by  these  beams  of 
tenderness,  looked  happy  again  as  she  drew  his  arm  within 
hers,  and  placed  in  his  yght  hand  the  stick  which  rested  at 
the  side  of  his  chair.  While  Bardo  had  been  sitting,  he  had 
seemed  hardly  more  than  sixty :  liis  face,  though  pale,  had  that 
refined  texture  in  which  Avrinklcs  and  lines  are  never  deep ; 
but  now  that  he  began  to  walk  he  looked  as  old  as  he  really 
was — rather  more  than  seventy ;  for  his  tall,  spare  frame  had 
the  student's  stoop  of  the  shoulders,  and  he  stepped  with  the 
undecided  gait  of  the  blind. 

"  No,  Romola,"  he  said,  pausing  against  the  bust  of  Hadri- 
an, and  passing  his  stick  from  the  right  to  the  left  that  he 
might  explore  the  familiar  outline  Avith  a  "  seeing  hand." 
*'  There  will  be  nothing  else  to  preserve  my  memory  and  carry 
down  my  name  as  a  member  of  the  great  republic  of  letters — 
nothing  but  my  library  and  my  collection  of  antiquities.  And 
they  are  choice,"  continued  Bardo,  pressing  the  bust  and 
speaking  in  a  tone  of  insistence.  "  Tlie  collections  of  Niccolo, 
I  know,  were  larger :  but  take  any  collection  which  is  the  work 
of  a  single  man — that  of  the  great  Boccaccio  even,  Avhich  Nic- 
colo  bought — mine  will  surpass  it.  That  of  Poggio  was  con- 
temptible compared  with  mine.  It  will  be  a  great  gift  to  un- 
born scholars.  And  there  is  nothing  else.  For  even  if  I  were 
to  yield  to  the  wish  of  Aldo  Manuzio  when  he  sets  up  his 
press  at  Venice,  and  give  him  the  aid  of  my  annotated  manu- 
scripts, I  know  well  what  would  be  the  result :  some  other 
scholar's  name  would  stand  on  the  title-page  of  the  edition — 
some  scholar  who  would  have  fed  on  my  honey  and  then  de- 
clared in  his  preface  that  he  had  gathered  it  all  himself  fresh 
from  Hymettus.  Else,  why  have  I  refused  the  loan  of  many 
an  annotated  codex  ?  why  have  I  refused  to  make  public  any 
of  my  translations?  why,  but  because  scholarship  is  a  system 
of  licensed  robbery,  and  your  man  in  scarlet  and  furred  robe 
who  sits  in  judgment  on  thieves,  is  himself  a  thief  of  the 
thoughts  and  the" fame  that  belong  to  his  fellows.  But  against 
that  robbery  Bardo  de'  Bardi  shall  struggle — though  blind 
and  forsaken,  he  shall  struggle.  I  too  have  a  right  to  be  re- 
membered— as  great  a  right  as  Pontanus  or  Merula,  whose 
names  will  be  foremost  on  the  lips  of  posterity,  because  they 
sought  patronage  and  found  it;  because  they  had  tongues 
that  could  flatter,  and  blood  that  Avas  used  to  be  nourished 
from  the  client's  basket.     I  have  a  right  to  be  remembered." 

The  old  man's  voice  had  become  at  once  loud  and  tremu- 
lousj  and  a  pink  flush  overspread  his  proud,  deUcately-cut  fea- 


00  UOMOL/-. 

tures,  wliile  tlic  habitually  raised  attitnclo  of  his  head  gave  th« 
idea  that  Inhiiul  tlu'  c-urtaiii  of  liis  bliiulness  lie  saw  some  im* 
aginary  hiu,h  tiiliunal  to  which  he  was  ai)iicaling  against  the 
injustii-e  of  Fame. 

Kumola  was  moved  with  sympathetic  indignation,  for  inlier 
nature  too  there  lay  the  same  large  claims,  and  the  same  spirit 
of  struggle  against  tlicir  denial.  She  tried  to  calm  her  father 
by  a  still  prouder  word  than  his. 

),  "  Nevertheless,  father,  it  is  a  great  gift  of  the  gods  to  be 
born  with  a  hatred  and  contempt  of  all  injustice  and  meanness. 
Yours  is  a  fiigher  lot,  never  to  have  lied  and  truckled,  than  to 
liave  shareil  honors  won  by  dishonor.  There  is  strength  in 
scorn,  as  there  was  in  the  martial  fury  by  which  men  became 
insensible  to  Avounds." 

"  It  is  well  said,  llomola.  It  is  a  Promethean  word  thou 
hast  uttered,"  answered  Bardo,  after  a  little  interval,  in  which 
ho  liad  begun  to  lean  on  his  stick  again,  and  to  wslk  on.  *'  And 
T  indeed  am  not  to  be  pierced  by  the  shafts  of  Fortune.  My 
aiiuor  is  the  (t^-  trlplejc  of  a  clear  conscience,  and  a  mind  nour- 
ished by  the  i)recepts  of  philosophy.  '  For  men,'  says  Epicte- 
tus, '  are  disturbed  not  by  things  themselves,  but  by  their  o))in- 
ions  or  thoughts  concerning  those  things.'  Anil  again, '  who- 
soever will  be  free,  let  him  not  desire  or  dread  that  which  it 
is  in  the  power  of  others  either  to  deny  or  inflict:  otherwise, 
ho  is  a  slave.'  And  of  all  such  gifts  as  are  dependent  on  the  ca- 
price of  fortune  or  of  men,  1  have  long  ago  learned  to  say,  with 
Horace — who,  howevei',  is  too  wavering  in  his  philosophy, 
vacillating  between  the  precepts  of  Zeno  and  the  less  worthy 
maxims  of  Epicurus,  and  attemjiting,  as  we  say, 'duabus  sellis 
sedere' — concerning  such  accidents,  I  say,  with  the  pregnant 
brevity  of  the  poet, 

'  Sunt  qui  iion  habcant,  est  qui  non  curat  habere. ' 

He  is  referring  to  gems,  and  |)urple,  and  other  insignia  of 
wealth;  but  I  may  apply  his  wonls  not  less  justly  to  the  trib- 
utes men  i)ay  us  with  their  lips  anil  their  jiens,  which  are  also 
matters  of  i)urchase,  and  often  with  base  coin.  Yes,  ^  inanis'* 
— lioUow,  empty — is  the  epithet  justly  bestowed  on  Fame." 

They  made  the  tour  of  the  room  in  silence  after  this;  but 
liardt/s  lip-born  maxims  were  as  powerless  over  the  passion 
which  had  been  moving  liim  as  if  they  had  been  written  on 
parchment  and  hung  round  his  neck  in  a  sealed  bag;  and  he 
presently  broke  forth  again  in  a  new  tone  of  insistence. 

^^Inanis  ?  yes,  if  it  is  a  lying  fame  ;  but  not  if  it  is  the  just 
meed  of  labor  and  a  great  puri)ose.  I  claim  my  right:  it  is 
not  fair  that  the  work  of  my  brain  and  my  hands  should  not 


ROMOLA.  6:i 

be  a  monument  to  me — it  is  not  just  that  my  labor  should 
bear  the  name  of  another  man.  It  is  but  little  to  ask,"  the 
old  man  went  on,  bitterly,  "  that  my  name  should  be  over  the 
(^loor — that  men  should  own  themselves  debtoi's  to  the  Bardi 
Library  in  Florence.  They  will  speak  coldly  of  me,  perhaps: 
'  a  diligent  collector  and  transcriber,'  they  will  say,  '  and  also 
of  some  critical  ingenuity,  but  one  who  could  hardly  be  con- 
spicuous in  an  age  so  fruitful  in  illustrious  scholars.  Yet  he 
merits  our  pity,  for  in  the  latter  years  of  his  life  he  was  blind, 
and  his  only  son,  to  whose  education  he  had  devoted  his  best 
years — '  Nevertheless  my  name  will  be  remembered,  and 
men  will  honor  me;  not  with  the  breath  of  flattery, purchased 
by  mean  bribes,  but  because  I  have  labored,  and  because  my 
labor  will  remain.  Debts  !  I  know  there  are  debts ;  and  there 
is  thy  dowry,  Romola,  to  be  paid.  But  there  must  be  enough 
— or,  at  least,  there  can  lack  but  a  small  sum,  such  as  the  Sig- 
noria  might  Avell  provide.  And  if  Lorenzo  had  not  died,  all 
would  have  been  secured  and  settled.     But  now — " 

At  this  moment  Maso  opened  the  door,  and  advancing  to 
his  master,  announced  that  Nello,  the  barber,  had  desired  him 
to  say  that  he  was  come  with  the  Greek  scholar  whom  he  had 
asked  leave  to  introduce. 

"  It  is  well,'  said  the  old  man.  "  Bring  them  in." 
Bardo,  conscious  that  he  looked  more  dependent  when  he 
was  walking,  liked  always  to  be  seated  in  the  presence  of 
strangers,  and  Romola,  without  needing  to  be  told,  conducted 
him  to  his  chair.  She  Avas  standing  by  him  at  her  full  height, 
in  quiet,  majestic  self-possession,  when  the  visitors  entered; 
and  the  most  penetrating  observer  would  hardly  have  divined 
that  this  proud,  pale  face,  at  the  slightest  touch  on  the  fibres 
of  affection  or  pity,  could  become  passionate  with  tendei'ness, 
or  that  this  woman,  who  imposed  a  certain  awe  on  those  who 
approached  her,  was  in  a  state  of  girlish  simplicity  and  igno- 
I'auce  concerning  the  world  outside  her  father's  books. 


CHAPTER  YI. 

DAWNING    HOPES 


When  Maso  opened  the  door  again,  and  ushered  in  the  two 
visitors,  Xello,  first  making  a  deej)  reverence  to  Romola,  gen- 
tly pushed  Tito  before  him,  and  advanced  with  him  towards 
her  father. 

"  Messer  Bardo,"  he  said,  in  a  more  measured  and  respect- 
ful tone  than  was  usual  with  him,  "  I  have  the  honor  of  pre 


62  noMOLA. 

sentlng  1o  you  tlio  (Jreck  scliolar,  wlio  Ims  been  oacjer  to  liave 
speech  of  you,  not  less  from  the  rejiort  I  inaile  to  liiiu  oi  your 
leiiniiiij^  ami  }()ur  priceless  collections,  than  because  of  the 
furtherance  your  palroiiauc  may  L,'ive  him  under  the  transient 
need  to  wliicli  he  has  been  redut^eil  by  shiijwreck.  His  iv^uie 
is  Tito  iSrelenia,  at  your  service." 

Koinola's  astonishment  could  hardly  have  l)een  greater  if 
the  stranger  had  worn  a  |ianther-skiii  ami  carried  a  thyrsus; 
for  the  cunning  barber  had  said  nothing  of  the  (Greek's  age  or 
appearance  ;  and  among  her  father's  scholarly  visitors  she  had 
liardlv  ever  seen  any  but  middle-aged  or  e:rav-headed  men. 
There  was  only  one  masculine  face,  at  oncj  youthful  and 
beautiful,  the  image  of  which  remained  deeply  impressed  on 
her  mind  :  it  was  that  of  her  brother,  Avho  long  years  ago  had 
taken  her  on  his  knee,  kissed  lier,  and  never  come  back  again  : 
a  fair  face,  with  sunny  hair  like  her  own.  iiut  the  habitual 
attitude  of  her  mind  toward  strangers — a  proud  self-depend- 
ence and  determination  to  ask  for  nothing  even  by  a  smile — 
confirmed  in  her  by  her  father's  c()mj)laints  against  the  world's 
injustice,  was  like  a  snowy  embankment  hemming  in  the  rush 
of  admiring  surprise.  Tito's  bright  face  showed  its  rich-tinted 
beauty  without  any  rivalry  of  color  above  his  black  sajo  or 
tumc.  reaching  to  the  knees.  It  seemed  like  a  wreath  of  sj>ring, 
(b-opped  suddenly  into  Komola's  young  but  wintry  life,  which 
I  I  liad  inherited  nothing  but  memories — memories  of  a  dead 
mother,  of  a  lost  brother,  of  a  blind  father's  happiei  time — • 
memories  of  far-off  light,  love,  and  beauty,  that  lay  imbedded 
in  dark  mines  of  books,  and  could  hardly  give  out  their  bright- 
ness again  mitil  they  were  kindled  for  her  liy  the  torch  of  some 
known  joy.  Neveitheless,  she  returned  Tito's  bow,  made  to 
her  on  entering,  with  the  same  pale,  proud  face  as  ever;  but 
as  he  approached  the  snow  melted,  and  when  he  ventured  to 
look  towards  her  again,  while  Nello  was  speaking,  :i  pink  flush 
overspread  her  face,  to  vanish  again  almost  inunediately,  as  if 
her  imi)erious  will  had  recalled  it.  Tito's  glance,  on  the  con- 
trary, liad  that  gentle,  beseeching  admiration  in  it  which  is  the 
most  propitiating  of  appeals  to  a  proud,  shy  woman,  and  is 

{)erhaj)s  the  only  atonement  a  man  can  make  for  being  too 
landsome.  The  Hnished  fascination  of  his  air  came  cliiefly  f  lom 
tl'.e  absence  of  demand  and  assumption.  It  was  that  of  a  lleet, 
soft-coated,  ilark-eyed  animal  that  delights  you  by  not  bound- 
ing away  in  indifference  from  you,  and  unexpectedly  pillows  its 
chin  oi'.  your  ]»alm,  and  looks  uj)  ;it  you  desiring  to  be  stroked 
• — as  if  it  loved  you. 

"  Messerc,  I  give  you  welcome,"  said  Bai-do,  with  some  con- 
dcscention  ;  "  misfortune  Avedded  to  learning,  and  csj)ecially 


EOMOLA.  63 

to  Greek  learning,  is  a  letter  of  credit  that  should  win  the  ear 
of  every  instructed  Florentine  ;  for,  as  you  are  doubtless  a^s^are, 
since  the  period  when  your  countryman  ]Manuello  Crisolora, 
diffused  the  light  of  his  teaching  in  the  chief  cities  of  Italy, 
now  nearly  a  century  ago,  no  man  is  held  Avorthy  of  the  name 
of  scholar  who  has  acquired  merely  the  transplanted  and  de- 
rivative literature  of  the  Latins  ;  rather,  such  inert  students 
are  stigmatized  as  opici  or  barbarians,  according  to  the  phrase 
of  the  Romans  themselves,  who  frankly  replenished  their  urns 
at  the  fountain-head.  I  am,  as  you  perceive,  and  as  Nello  has 
doubtless  forewarned  you,  totally  blind — a  calamity  to  which 
we  Florentines  are  held  especially  liable,  whether  owing  to  the 
cold  winds  wliich  rush  upon  us  in  spring  from  the  passes  of 
the  Apennines,  or  to  that  sudden  transition  from  the  cool  gloom 
of  our  houses  to  the  dazzling  brightness  of  our  summer  sun, 
by  which  the  llppi  are  said  to  have  been  made  so  numerous 
among  the  ancient  Romans  ;  or,  in  fine,  to  some  occult  cause 
which  eludes  our  superficial  surmises.  But  I  pray  you  be  seat- 
ed :  Nello,  my  friend,  be  seated." 

Bardo  paused  until  his  fine  ear  had  assured  him  that  the 
visitors  were  seating  themselves,  and  that  Romola  was  taking 
her  usual  chair  at  his  right  hand.     Then  he  said  : 

"  From  what  part  of  Greece  do  you  come,  Messcre  ?  I  had 
thought  that  your  unliappy  country  had  been  almost  exhaust- 
ed of  those  sons  who  could  cherish  in  their  minds  any  image 
of  iier  original  glory,  though  indeed  the  barbarous  Sultans  have 
of  late  shown  themselves  not  indisposed  to  ingraft  on  their  wild 
stock  the  precious  vine  which  their  own  fierce  bands  have  hewn 
down  and  trampled  under  foot.  From  what  part  of  Greece  do 
you  come  ?" 

*'  I  sailed  last  from  Nauplia,"  said  Tito ;  "  but  I  have  resided 
both  at  Constantinople  and  Thessalonica,  and  have  travelled 
in  various  parts  little  visited  by  Western  Christians  since  the 
triumph  of  the  Turkish  arms.  I  should  tell  you,  however, 
Messere,  that  I  was  not  born  in  Greece,  but  at  Bari.  I  spent 
the  first  sixteen  years  of  my  life  in  Southern  Italy  and  Sicily." 

While  Tito  was  speaking  some  emotion  passed,  like  a 
breath  on  the  waters,  across  Bardo's  delicate  features  ;  he 
leaned  forward,  put  out  his  right  hand  towards  Romola,  and 
turned  his  head  as  if  about  to  speak  to  her  ;  but  then,  correct- 
ing liimself,  .turned  away  again,  and  said,  in  a  subdued  voice, 

"  Excuse  me  ;  is  it  not  true — you  are  young  ?'• 

"  I  am  three-and-twenty,"  said  Tito. 

"  Ah,"  said  Bardo,  still  in  a  tone  of  subdued  e.fciteraenf^, 
"  and  you  had,  doubtless,  a  father  who  cai'ed  for  your  early  m* 
struction — who,  perhaps,  was  himself  a  scholar  ?" 


04  UOMOLA. 

There  was  .1  iliirlit  ])auso  before  Tito's  answer  came  to  iho 
ear  of  Bardo;  but  for  liofnola  aiulNello  it  comineiu-eil  witli  a 
slight  shock  that  seemed  to  pass  through  liiin,  and  cause  a 
innuuiilnrv  f|uiverii)f;  of  the  lij);  doubtless  at  tlie  revival  of  a 
buprenifl}  i>:untul  rcinenibrauce. 

"  Yes,"  he  rei)lied ;  "  at  least  a  father  by  adoption.  He  was 
a  Neapolitan,  and  of  accomplished  scholarshij)  both  Latin  and 
Greek,  liut,"  adtled  Tito,  after  another  sliudit  pause,  ''  he  is 
lost  to  me — was  lost  on  a  vovage  he  too  rashly  undertook  to 
Delos." 

Bardo  sank  backward  a<xain,  too  delicate  to  ask  another 
question  that  might  probe  a  sorrow  which  he  tlivined  to  be 
recent.  Komola,  who  knew  Avell  what  were  the  fibres  that 
Tito's  voice  had  stirred  in  her  father,  felt  that  this  new  ac- 
quaintance had  with  wonderful  suddenness  got  witiiin  the  bar> 
rier  that  lay  between  them  and  the  alien  world.  Xello,  think- 
ing that  the  evident  check  given  to  the  conversation  offered  a 
graceful  opportunity  for  relieving  liimself  from  silence,  said — 

"In  truth,  it  is  as  clear  as  \'enetian  glass  that  this  hi  I  <jioi:ane 
has  had  the  finest  training ;  for  the  two  Cennini  have  set 
him  to  work  at  their  Greek  sheets  already,  and  they  are  not 
men  to  begin  cutting  before  they  have  felt  the  edge  of  their 
tooh,  ml  pare;  they  tested  him  well  beforehand,  we  may  bo 
sure,  and  if  there  are  two  things  not  to  be  hidden — love  and  a 
cough — I  say  there  is  a  third,  and  that  is  ignorance,  wlieii  once 
a  man  is  obliged  to  do  something  besides  wagging  his  head. 
The  tonsor  ineqiidUs  is  inevitably  betrayed  wlien  he  takes  the 
shears  in  his  hand  ;  is  it  not  true,  ]\IesRer  Bardo  ?  I  speak 
after  the  fashion  of  a  barber,  but,  as  Luigi  Pulci  says — 

"  '  I'eriloiiimi  s'io  fallo  :  (hi  m'iisrolta 
Iiiteiula  il  iiiin  vol<^ar  col  siio  latino.'  " 

"  Nay,  my  good  Nello,"said  Bardo,  with  an  air  of  fiiendly 
severity,  "  you  are  not  altogether  illiterate,  and  might  doubtless 
have  made  a  more  respectable  ])rogress  in  learning  if  you  had 
abstained  somewhat  from  the  cicahitd  and  gossij)  of  the  street 
coiner,  to  which  our  Florentines  are  excessively  addicted  ;  but 
still  more  if  you  had  not  clogged  your  memory  with  those 
irivolous  ]>roductioiis  of  which  Lui^i  Pulci  has  furnishe(l  the 
most  peccant  exemjilar — a  com})cn(lium  of  extravagances  and 
incongruities  the  farthest  removed  from  the  models  of  a  pure 
age,  and  resembling  rather  the  (P'l/Ui,  or  conceits  of  a  ])eriod 
when  mvstic  jneaniiicc  was  lieM  a  warrant  for  monstrositv  of 
form  ;  with  this  difference,  that  while  the  monstrosity  is  retain- 
ed, the  mystic  meaning  is  absent ;  in  contemi)tible  contrast  with 
the  great  poera  of  Virgil,  who,  as  I  long  held  with  P'ilelfo,  be* 


KOAIOLA.  G5 

Tore  Landino  had  taken  upon  him  to  expound  the  same  opinion, 
embodied  the  deepest  lessons  of  philosophy  in  a  graceful  and 
well-knit  fable.  And  I  can  not  but  regard  the  multipUcation 
of  these  babbling,  lawless  productions,  albeit  countenanced  by 
the  patronage,  and  in  some  degree  the  example  of  Lorenzo 
himself,  otherwise  a  friend  to  true  learning,  as  a  sign  that  the 
glorious  hopes  of  this  century  are  to  be  quenched  in  gloom ; 
nay,  that  they  have  been  the  delusive  prologue  to  an  age  worse 
than  that  of  iron — the  age  of  tinsel  and  gossamer,  in  which  no 
thought  has  substance  enough  to  be  moulded  into  consistent 
and  lasting  form." 

•"  Once  more,  pardon,"  said  Xello,  opening  his  palms  out- 
ward, and  shrugging  his  shoulders  ;  "  I  find  myself  knowing  so 
many  things  in  good  Tuscan  before  I  have  time  to  think  of  the 
Latin  for  them  ;  and  Messer  Luigi's  rhymes  are  always  slipping 
off  the  lips  of  my  customers  : — that  is  what  corrupts  me. 
And,  indeed,  talking  of  customers,  I  have  left  my  shop  and  my 
reputation  too  long  in  the  custody  of  my  slow  Sandro,  who 
does  not  deserve  even  to  be  called  a  tonsor  inequcdis,  but  rath- 
er to  be  pronounced  simj)ly  a  bungler  in  the  vulgar  tongue. 
So  with  your  permission,  Messer  Bardo,  I  will  take  ray  leave 
— well  understood  that  I  am  at  your  service  whenever  Maso 
calls  upon  me.  It  seems  a  thousand  years  till  I  dress  and  per- 
fume the  damigella's  hair,  Avhich  deserves  to  shine  in  the 
heavens  as  a  constellation,  though  indeed  it  were  a  pity  for  it 
ever  to  go  so  far  out  of  reach." 

Three  voices  made  a  fugue  of  friendly  farewells  to  Nello,  as 
he  retreated  with  a  bow  to  Romola  and  a  beck  to  Tito.  The 
acute  barber  saw  that  the  pretty  youngster,  who  had  crept  into 
his  liking  by  some  strong  magic,  was  well  launched  in  Bardo's 
favorable  regard  ;  and  satisfied  that  his  introduction  had  not 
miscarried  so  far,  he  felt  the  propriety  of  retiring. 

The  little  burst  of  wrath,  called  forth  by  Nello's  unlucky 
quotation,  had  diverted  Bardo's  mind  from  the  feelings  which 
iiad  just  before  been  hemming  in  further  speech,  and  he  now 
addressed  Tito  again  with  his  ordinary  calmness. 

"  Ah  !  young  man,  you  are  happy  in  having  been  able  to 
unite  the  advantages  of  travel  with  those  of  study,  and  you  will 
be  welcome  among  us  as  a  bringer  of  fresh  tidings  from  a  land 
ivhich  has  become  sadly  strange  to  us,  except  through  the 
agents  of  a  now  restricted  commerce  and  the  reports  of  hasty 
pilgrims.  For  those  days  are  in  the  far  distance  which  I  my- 
self witnessed,  when  men  like  Aurispa  and  Guarino  went  out  to 
Greece  as  to  a  store-house,  and  came  back  laden  with  manu- 
scripts which  every  scholar  was  eager  to  borrow — and,  be  it 
owned  with  shame,  n  Jt  always  willing  to  restore ;  nay,  even 


Y 


OG  UOMOLA. 

the  days  wlicn  erudite  Greeks  flocked  to  our  sliores  for  a  ref- 
use seem  far  off  now — farther  off  than  tlie  oiicoiiiin<4  of  my 
blindness,  lint,  doubtless,  young  man,  research  after  the  treas- 
ures of  anti(|uity  was  not  alien  to  the  jxirpose  of  your  travels?" 

"Assuredly  not,"  said  Tito.      "On  tlie  contrary,  my  com- 
panion— my  father — was  willing  to  risk  liis  life  in  his  zeal  for 
tlie  discovery  of  inscriptions  and  otiier  traces  of  ancient  civil 
ization." 

"And  I  trust  there  is  a  record  of  his  researches  and  their 
results,"  said  Bardo,  eagerly,  "  since  they  must  be  even  more 
})recious  than  those  of  Ciriaeo,  which  I  have  diligently  availed 
myself  of,  though  they  are  not  always  illuminated  by  adequate 
learning." 

"There  was  such  a  record,"  said  Tito,  "but  it  was  lost, 
like  every  thing  else,  in  the  shipwreck  I  suffered  below  An- 
coua.  The  only  record  left  is  such  as  remains  in  our — in  my 
memory." 

"  Yo  )  must  lose  no  time  in  committing  it  to  paper,  young 
man,"  said  liardo,  with  growing  interest.  "  Doubtless  you  re- 
member much,  if  you  aided  in  transcription  ;  for  when  I  was 
your  age  words  wrought  themselves  into  my  mind  as  if  they 
liad  been  fixed  by  the  tool  of  the  graver;  wherefore  I  con- 
stantly marvel  at  the  caj)riciousness  of  my  daughter's  memory, 
which  grasps  certain  objects  with  tenacity,  and  lets  fall  all  those 
mimitiie  whereon  depends  accuracy,  the  very  soul  of  scliolar 
ship.  But  I  appreheml  no  such  danger  with  you,  young  man, 
if  your  will  has  secon^led  the  advantages  of  your  training." 

When  Bardo  made  this  reference  to  his  daughter,  Tito 
ventured  to  turn  his  eyes  towards  her,  and  at  the  accusation 
against  her  memory  his  face  broke *into  its  brightest  smile, 
which  was  reflected  as  inevitably  as  sudden  sunbeams  in  Ro- 
mola's.  Conceive  the  soothing  delight  of  that  smile  to  her! 
Komola  had  never  dreamed  that  there  was  a  scholar  in  the 
world  who  wouM  smih;  at  her  for  a  delieiency  for  which  she 
was  constantly  made  to  feel  herself  a  culprit.  It  was  like  the 
dawn  of  a  new  sense  to  her — the  sense  of  comradeshij>.  They 
did  not  look  away  from  each  other  immediatily,  as  if  the  smile 
had  been  a  stolen  one;  they  looked  and  smiled  with  frank  en- 
joyment. 

"  She  is  not  really  so  cold  and  ])rond,"  thought  Tito. 

"  Does  Ac  forget,  loo,  I  wonder";:'"  thought  Komola.  "Rut 
I  hope  not,  else  lie  will  vex  my  father." 

But  Tito  was  obliged  to  turn  away  and  answer  Bardo's 
question, 

"  I  have  had  much  practice  in  transcription,"  he  said  ;  "  but 
in  the  case  of  inscriptions  copied  in  jnemorable  scenes,  render* 


ROMOLA.  67 

td  doubly  impressive  by  the  sense  of  risk  and  adventure,  it 
may  have  hai^peued  that  my  retention  of  written  characters 
has  been  weakened.  On  tlie  plain  of  the  Eurotas,  or  among 
the  gigantic  stones  of  Mycenae  and  Tyrins — especially  when 
the  fear  of  the  Turk  hovers  over  one  like  a  vulture — the  mind 
wanders,  even  though  the  hand  writes  faithfully  what  the  eye 
dictates.  But  something  doubtless  I  have  retained,"  added 
Tito,  with  a  modesty  which  was  not  false,  though  he  was  con- 
scious that  it  was  politic ;  "  something  that  might  be  of  serv- 
ice if  illustrated  and  corrected  by  a  wider  learning  than  my 
own." 

"  That  is  well  spoken,  young  man,"  said  Bardo,  delighted^ 
"And  I  will  not  withhold'from  you  such  aid  as  I  can  give,  if 
you  like  to  communicate  with  me  concerning  your  recollec- 
tions. I  foresee  a  work  which  will  be.  a  useful  supplement  to 
the  Isolario  of  Chistoforo  Buondelmonte,  and  which  may  take 
rank  with  the  Itlneraria  of  Ciriaco  and  the  admirable  Ani- 
brogio  Traversari.  But  we  must  prepare  ourselves  for  cal- 
umny, young  man,"  Bardo  went  on  with  energy,  as  if  the  work 
were  already  growing  so  fast  that  the  time  of  trial  was  near ;  "  if 
your  book  contains  novelties  you  will  be  charged  with  forgery ; 
if  ray  elucidations  should  clash  with  any  principles  of  intei'pre- 
tation  adopted  by  anotlier  scholar,  our  personal  characters  will 
be  attacked,  Ave  shall  be  impeached  with  foul  actions;  you 
must  prepare  yourself  to  be  told  that  your  mother  was  a  iish- 
woman,  and  that  your  father  was  a  renegade  priest  or  a  hang- 
ed malefactor,  t  myself,  for  having  shown  error  in  a  single 
proposition,  had  an  invective  Avritten  against  me  wherein  I  was 
taxed  with  treachery,  fraud,  indecency,  and  even  hideous 
crimes.  Such,  my  young  friend,  such  are  the  flowers  with 
which  the  glorious  path  of  scholarship  is  strewed !  But  tell 
me,  then  :  I  have  learned  much  concerning  Byzantium  and 
Thessalonica  long  ago  from  Demetrio  Calcondila,  who  has  but 
lately  departed  from  Florence ;  but  you,  it  seems,  have  visited 
less  familiar  scenes  ?" 

"  Yes ;  we  made  what  I  may  call  a  pilgrimage  full  of  danger, 
for  the  sake  of  visiting  places  which  have  almost  died  out  of 
the  memory  of  the  West,  for  they  lie  away  from  the  track  of 
pilgrims ;  and  my  father  used  to  say  that  scholars  themselves 
hardly  imagine  them  to  have  any  existence  out  of  books.  He 
was  of  opinion  that  a  new  and  more  glorious  era  Avould  open 
for  learning  when  men  should  begin  to  look  for  their  commen- 
taries on  the  ancient  v\-riters  in  the  remains  of  cities  and  tem- 
ples— nay,  in  the  paths  of  the  rivers,  and  on  the  face  of  the 
valleys  and  mountains." 

"Ah!"  said  Bardo,  fervidly,  "your  father,  then,  was  not  a 


68  KOMOLA. 

common  man.  Was  he  fortunate,  may  I  ask?  Had  ho  many 
frk'nilsV"  'I'hese  hist  words  were  uttered  in  a  tone  eharged 
with  meanint;. 

"  No;  he  made  em-mit'S— cliicily,  T  Ik  I'u'Vf,  by  a  eertain  im- 
petuous candor;  and  they  himlered  liis  advancement,  so  that 
he  lived  in  obscurity.  And  he  woukl  never  stoop  to  concili- 
ate: he  could  never  fori^et  an  injury." 

"  Ah  !"  said  Hardo  au,ain,  with  a  lonij,  deep  intonation, 

"Among  our  hazardous  expeditions,"  continued  Tito,  wil- 
ling to  prevent  further  (piestions  on  a  point  so  personal,  "  I 
renuMuber  with  particular  vividness  a  visit  we  snatched  to 
Athens.  Our  haste,  and  the  double  danger  of  being  seized  as 
prisoners  by  the  Turks,  and  of  our  galley  raising  anchor  before 
we  could  return,  made  it  seem  like  a  fevered  vision  of  the  night 
— the  wide  ]>lain,  the  girdling  mountains,  the  ruined  ])orticoes 
and  t'olunms,  either  standing  far  aloof,  as  if  receding  from  our 
hurried  footsteps,  or  else  jammed  in  confusedly  among  the 
dwellings  of  Christians  degraded  into  servitude,  or  among  the 
forts  and  turrets  of  their  Moslem  conquerors,  who  have  their 
strongdiold  on  the  Acropolis." 

"  You  till  me  with  surprise,"  said  Bardo.  "  Athens,  then, 
is  not  utterly  destroyed  and  swept  away,  as  I  had  imagi!ied  V" 

"No  wontler  you  sliou'd  be  under  that  mistake,  tor  few 
even  of  the  Greeks  themselves,  Avho  live  beyond  the  mountain 
boundary  of  Attica,  know  any  thing  about  the  jireseut  condi- 
tion of  Athens,  f)r  Setine,  as  the  sailors  call  it.  I  remember,  as 
we  were  rounding  the  jiromontory  of  Sunium,  the  Greek  jdlot 
we  had  on  board  our  Venetian  galU'y  i)ointed  to  the  mighty 
columns  that  stand  on  the  summit  of  the  rock — the  remains, 
as  you  know  well,  of  the  great  temple  erected  to  the  goddess 
Atiiena,  who  looked  down  from  that  high  shrine  with  triumph 
at  her  con<piered  rival  Poseidon  ;  well,  our  (4reek  jiilot,  point- 
inir  to  those  columns,  said, '  That  w:is  the  school  of  the  great 
l»hilosopher  Aristotle.'  And  at  Athens  itself,  the  monk  who 
acted  as  our  guide  in  the  hasty  view  we  snatched,  insisted 
most  on  showing  us  the  spot  where  St.  Philip  bajitized  the 
Kthiopi;m  eunuch,  or  some  such  legend." 

"Talk  not  of  monks  and  their  legends,  young  man  !"  said 
Bardo,  interrupting  Tito  impetuously.  "  It  is  enough  to  over- 
lay human  hope  and  ent<M-i)rise  with  an  eternal  frost,  to  think 
that  the  ground  which  was  trodden  by  philosophers  and  poets 
is  crawled  over  by  those  insect-swarms  of  besotteil  fanatics  or 
howling  hyjiocrites." 

''P()-i(io,  I  have  no  affection  for  them,"  said  Tito,  with  a 
shrug ;  "  servitude  agrees  well  with  a  religion  like  theirs,  which 
lies  in  the  renunciation  of  all  that  makes  life  precious  to  other 


ROMOLA.  69 

men.  And  they  carry  the  yoke  that  befits  them  :  tlieir  matin 
chant  ia  drowned  by  the  voice  of  the  muezzin,  who,  from  the 
gallery  of  the  high  tower  on  tlie  Acropolis,  calls  every  Mussuu 
man  to  his  prayers.  That  tower  springs  from  the  Parthenon 
itself ;  and  every  time  we  paused  and  directed  our  eyes  to- 
wards it  our  guide  set  up  a  wail  that  a  temple  Avhich  had  once 
been  won  from  the  diabolical  uses  of  the  Pagans  to  become 
the  temple  of  another  virgin  than  Pallas — the  Virgin-Mother 
of  God — was  now  again  perverted  to  the  accursed  ends  of  the 
Moslem.  It  was  the  sight  of  those  walls  of  the  Acropolis, 
which  disclosed  themselves  in  the  distance  as  we  leaned  over 
the  side  of  our  galley  when  it  Avas  forced  by  contrary  winds 
to  anchor  in  the  Pirteus,  that  fired  my  father's  mind  with  the 
determination  to  see  Athens  at  all  risks,  and*in  spite  of  the 
sailors'  warnings  that  if  we  lingered  till  a  change  of  wind 
they  would  depart  without  us  ;  but  after  all,  it  was  impossible 
for  us  to  venture  near  the  Acropolis,  for  the  sight  of  men  ea- 
ger in  examining  'old  stones'  raised  the  suspicion  that  we 
were  Venetian  spies,  and  we  had  to  hurry  back  to  the  har- 
bor." 

"  We  will  talk  more  of  these  things,"  said  Bardo,  eagerly. 
"  You  must  recall  every  thing,  to  the  minutest  trace  left  in 
your  memory.  You  will  win  the  gratitude  of  after-times  by 
leaving  a  record  of  the  aspect  Greece  bore  while  yet  the  bar- 
barians had  not  swept  away  every  trace  of  the  structures  that 
Pausanias  and  Pliny  described  :  you  Avill  take  those  great 
writers  as  your  models  ;  and  such  contribution  of  criticism 
and  suggestion  as  my  riper  mind  can  supply  shall  not  be  want- 
ing to  you.  There  will  be  much  to  tell :  for  you  have  travel- 
led, you  said,  in  the  Peloponnesus  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  and  in  Ba?otia  also  :  I  have  rested  in  the  groves  of 
Helicon,  and  tasted  of  the  fountain  Hi])pocrene.  But  on  every 
memorable  spot  in  Greece  conquest  after  conquest  has  set  its 
seal,  till  there  is  a  confusion  of  ownership  even  in  ruins,  that 
only  close  study  and  comparison  uould  unravel.  High  over 
every  fastness,  from  the  plains  ©f  Lacediemon  to  the  Straits  of 
Tiiermopyla?,  there  towers  some  huge  Prankish  fortress,  once 
inhabited  by  a  French  or  Italian  marquis,  now  either  aban- 
Joned  or  held  by  Turkish  bands." 

"  Stay  !"  cried  Bardo,  whose  mind  was  now  too  thoroughly 
preoccupied  by  the  idea  of  the  future  book  to  attend  to  Tito's 
further  naiTation.  "  Do  you  think  of  writing  in  Latin  or 
Greek  ?  Doubtless  Greek  is  the  more  ready  clothing  for  your 
thoughts,  and  it  is  the  nobler  language.  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  Latin  is  the  tongue  in  which  we  shall  measure  ourselves 
with  the  larger  and  more  famous  number  of  modern  rival* 


70  UOMOLA. 

And  if  you  arc  less  at  ease  in  it,  I  will  aid  you — yes,  I  will 
spend  c>n  you  that  long-accumulated  study  wliicli  was  to  have 
Ik'cu  thiown  into  the  channel  of  another  work — a  work  ia 
which  I  myself  was  to  have  had  a  helpmate." 

IJardo  paused  a  nu^ment,and  then  added — 

"But  who  knows  whether  that  work  may  not  be  executed 
yet?  For  you,  too,  young  man,  have  been  brought  up  by  a 
father  who  poured  into  your  mind  all  the  long-gatlicrcd  stream 
of  his  kiiowleilge  and  experience.     Our  aid  might  bo  mutual." 

Koniola,  who  had  watched  her  father's  growing  excitement, 
and  divined  well  the  invisible  currents  of  feeling  that  deter- 
mined  every  question  and  remark,  felt  herself  in  a  glow  of 
strange  anxiety:  she  turned  her  eyes  on  Tito  contimuilly,  to 
watch  the  impression  her  father's  words  made  on  him,  afraid 
lost  he  should  be  inclined  to  dispel  these  visions  of  co-opera- 
tion which  were  lighting  up  her  father's  face  with  a  new 
hope.  But  no  !  He  looked  so  bright  and  gentle  :  he  must 
feel,  as  she  did,  that  in  this  eagerness  of  blind  age  there  was 
piteousness  enough  to  call  forth  inexhaustible  jtatience.  How 
much  more  strongly  he  would  feel  this  if  he  ktiew  about  her 
brother  !  A  girl  of  eighteen  imagines  the  feelings  behind  the 
face  that  has  moved  her  with  its  symi)athetic  youth,  as  easily 
as  primitive  people  imagined  the  humors  of  the  gods  in  fair 
weather  :  what  is  she  to  believe  in,  if  not  in  this  vision  woven 
from  within  ?' 
"And  Tito  was  really  very  far  from  feeling  impatient.  He 
delighted  in  sitting  there  with  the  sense  that  liomolu's  atten- 
tion was  iixed  on  him,  and  that  he  could  occasionally  look  at 
her.  He  was  pleased  that  Bardo  should  take  an  interest  in 
him;  and  he  did  not  ilwell  with  enough  seriousness  on  the 
prospect  of  the  work  in  which  he  was  to  be  aided,  to  feel 
moved  by  it  to  any  thing  else  than  that  easy,  gooil-humored 
ac(piiescence  which  was  natural  to  him. 

"  I  shall  be  ]»roud  and  hap))y,"  he  saiil,  in  answer  to  Bardo\s 
last  words,  "  if  my  services  ean  l)e  held  a  meet  offering  to  the 
matured  scholarship  of  ]\Iess»re.  But  doubtless" — here  he 
looked  towards  IJomola — "  the  lovi-ly  damigella.  youi'  daughter, 
makes  all  (jther  aid  siipertluoiis  ;  for  I  have  learned  from  Nell.) 
jthat  she  has  been  nourished  on  the  highest  studies  from  her 
earliest  years." 

"You  are  mistaken,"  said  Komob ;  "I  am  by  no  means 
sutlicienl  to  my  father:  I  have  not  the  gifts  that  are  necessary 
for  scholarship." 

Rojuola  <lid  not  make  this  self-depreciatory  statement  m  a 
tone  of  anxious  lniinility,but  with  a  proud  gravity. 

"Nay,  my  Komola,"  said  her  father,  not  willing  that  th« 


EOMOLA.  71 

sti-anger  should  have  too  low  a  conception  of  his  daughter's 
powers ;  "  thou  art  not  destitute  of  gifts ;  rather  thou  art  en- 
dowed beyond  the  measure  of  women  ;  but  thou  hast  withal  the 
woman's  delicate  frame,  which  ever  craves  repose  and  variety, 
and  so  begets  a  wandering  imagination.  My  daughter" — 
turning  to  Tito — "  has  been  very  precious  to  me,  filling  up  to 
the  best  of  her  power  the  place  of  a  son.  For  I  had  once  a 
son — " 

Bardo  checked  himself :  he  did  not  wish  to  assume  an  atti- 
tude of  comi)laint  in  tlie  presence  of  a  stranger,  and  he  re- 
membered that  tliis  young  man,  in  whom  he  had  unexpectedly 
become  so  much  interested,  was  still  a  stranger,  towards  whom 
it  became  him  rather  to  keep  the  position  of  a  patron.  His 
pride  was  roused  to  double  activity  by  the  fear  that  he  had 
forgotten  his  dignity. 

''  But,"  he  resumed,  in  his  original  tone  of  condescension, 
"  we  are  departing  from  what  I  believe  is  to  you  the  most  im- 
portant business.  Nello  informed  me  that  you  had  certain 
gems  which  you  would  fain  dispose  of,  and  that  you  desired  a 
jiassport  to  some  man  of  wealth  and  taste  who  would  be  like- 
ly to  become  a  purchaser. 

"It  is  true;  for,  though  I  have  obtained  employment  as  a 
corrector  with  the  Cinnini,  my  payment  leaves  little  margin 
beyend  the  provision  of  necessaries,  and  would  leave  less  but 
that  my  good  friend  Xello  insists  on  my  hiring  a  lodging  from 
him,  and  saying  nothing  about  the  rent  till  better  days." 

"  Xello  is  a  good-hearted  prodigal  "  said  Bardo  ;  "  and 
though,  with  that  ready  ear  and  ready  tongue  of  his,  he  is  too 
much  like  the  ill-famed  Margites — knowing  many  things  and 
knowing  them  all  badly,  as  I  hinted  to  him  but  now — lie  is 
nevertheless  '  abnormis  sapiens,'  after  the  manner  of  our  born 
Florentines.  But  have  vou  the  trems  with  you?  I  would 
Avillingly  know  what  they  are — yet  it  is  useless :  no,  it  might 
only  deepen  regret.     I  can  not  add  to  my  store." 

"  I  have  one  or  two  intagli  of  much  beauty,"  said  Tito, 
proceeding  to  draw  from  his  M'allet  a  small  case. 

But  Romola  no  sooner  saw  the  movement  than  she  looked 
at  him  with  significant  gravity,  and  placed  her  finger  on  her 
Ups, 

"Con  viso  che  tacendo  dicea,  Taci." 

If  Bardo  Avere  made  aware  that  the  gems  were  within  reach, 
she  knew  well  he  would  want  a  minute  description  of  them,  and 
it  Avould  become  pain  to  him  that  they  should  go  away  from 
him,  even  if  he  did  not  insist  on  some  device  for  purchasing 
them  in  spite  of  poverty.     But  she  had  no  sooner  made  this 


72  ROMOLA. 

sit^n  than  slie  felt  ratlicr  guilty  and  asl)a;iK'(l  at  liavinf;  virtn- 
ally  cuiifessL'd  a  \veakiit'?>H  ut  her  iallier's  tu  a  stranger.  It 
seemed  that  she  was  destined  to  a  sudden  confidence  and  fa- 
miliarity with  this  young  Greek,  strangely  at  variance  with  her 
deeply-seated  pride  and  reserve;  and  this  consciousness  again 
brought  tlie  unwonted  color  ttj  her  cheeks. 

Tito  understood  her  look  and  sign,  and  immediately  with 
drew  his  hand  from  the  case,  saying  in  a  careless  tone,  so  as  tc 
make  it  appear  that  he  was  merely  following  up  his  last  words, 
"  But  they  are  usually  in  the  keejdng  of  Messer  Domenico 
Cennini,  wlio  has  strong  and  safe  places  for  these  things.  11m 
estimates  them  as  worth  at  least  five  hundred  ducats." 

"Ah,  then,  they  are  line  intagli,"  said  IJardo.  "Five  hun- 
dred ducats  !     Ah,  more  than  a  man's  ransom  !" 

Tito  gave  a  slight,  almost  imperceptil)le  start,  and  opened 
Ids  long  dark  eyes  with  (juestioning  surinise  at  J>ardo\s  blind 
face,  as  if  his  words — a  mere  i)hrase  of  common  ]»arlance,  at  a 
time  when  men  were  often  being  ransomed  from  slavery  or 
imprisonment — had  had  some  sj)ecial  meaning  for  him.  But  the 
next  moment  he  lookeil  towards  Ilomola,  as  it  her  eyes  must 
be  her  father's  interpreters.  She,  intensely  preoccupied  with 
what  related  to  her  father,  imagined  that  Tito  was  looking 
to  her  again  for  some  guidance,  and  immediately  sj)oke. 

"  AUessandra  Scala  delights  in  gems,  you  know,  father;  she 
calls  them  her  winter  Howers;  and  the  Segretario  would  be 
almost  sure  to  buy  some  of  ^Nlessere's  gems  if  she  wished  it. 
Besides,  he  himself  sets  great  store  by  rings  and  sigils,  which 
he  wears  as  a  defense  against  pains  in  the  joints." 

"It  is  true,"  said  Bardo.  "Bartolommeo  has  overmuch 
confidence  in  the  elKcacy  of  gems — a  confidence  wider  than  i;4 
sanctioned  by  l*liny,  who  clearly  shows  that  he  regards  many 
beliefs  of  that  sort  as  idle  superstitions;  though  not  to  the 
utter  denial  of  medicinal  virtues  in  gems.  Wherefore,  I  my- 
self, as  you  observe,  young  man,  wear  certain  lings,  which  the 
discreet  Camillo  Leonanli  prescribed  to  me  by  letter  when 
two  years  ago  I  had  a  certain  infirmity  of  sudden  numbness. 
But  thou  hast  spoken  well,  liomola.  I  will  dictate  a  lettei"  to 
Bartolommeo,  which  Masu  shall  carry.  liut  it  were  well  that 
JNIessere  should  notify  to  thee  what  tlic  gems  arc,  together 
with  the  iiitagli  they  bear,  as  a  warrant  to  Bartolommeo  that 
they  will  be  worthy  of  his  attention." 

"  Nay,  father,"  said  Komola,  whose  dread  lest  a  paroxyRm 
of  the  collector's  maiua  should  seize  her  father  gave  her  the 
courage  to  resist  his  ])roposal.  "  Your  word  will  be  sufficient 
that  .Messero  is  a  scholar  and  has  travelled  much.  The  Segre- 
tario will  need  Jio  further  inducement  to  receive  him." 


KOMOLA.  73 

"  True,  chilcl,'"  sai(i  Bardo,  touched  on  a  chord  that  was  sure 
to  respond.  "  I  have  no  need  to  add  proofs  and  arguments 
in  confirmation  of  my  Avord  to  Bartolommeo.  And  I  doubt 
not,  that  this  young  man's  presence  is  in  accord  with  the  tones 
of  his  voice,  so  that,  the  door  being  once  opened,  he  will  be 
hhi  own  best  advocate." 

Bardo  paused  a  few  moments,  but  his  silence  was  evidently 
charged  with  some  idea  that  he  was  hesitating  to  express,  for 
he  once  leaned  forward  a  little  as  if  he  were  going  to  speak, 
then  turned  his  head  aside  towards  Romola  and  sank  backward 
again.  At  last,  as  if  he  had  made  up  his  mind,  he  said  in  a 
tone  Avhich  might  have  become  a  prince  giving  the  courteous 
signal  of  dismissal : 

"  I  am  somewhat  fatigued  this  morning,  and  shall  prefer 
seeing  you  again  to-morrow,  when  I  shall  be  able  to  give  you 
the  secretary's  answer,  authorizing  you  to  present  yourself  to 
him  at  some  given  time.  But  before  you  go  " — here  the  old 
man,  in  spite  of  himself,  fell  into  a  more  faltering  tone — "you 
will  perhaps  permit  me  to  touch  your  hand  ?  It  is  long  since 
I  touched  the  hand  of  a  young  man." 

Bardo  had  stretched  out  his  aged  white  hand,  and  Tito  im- 
mediately ]ilaced  his  dark  but  delicate  and  supple  fingers  with- 
in it.  Bardo's  cramped  fingers  closed  over  them,  and  he  held 
them  for  a  few  minutes  in  silence.     Then  he  said : 

"  Romola,  has  this  young  man  the  same  complexion  as  thy 
brother — fair  and  pale  ?" 

"No,  father,"  Romola  answered,  with  determined  compo- 
sure, though  her  heart  began  to  beat  violently  with  mingled 
emotions.  "  Tiie  hair  of  Messere  is  dark — his  complexion  is 
dark."  InAvardly  she  said,  "  AVill  he  mind  it  ?  will  it  be  dis- 
agreeable? No,'he  looks  so  gentle  and  good-natured."  Then 
aloud  again : 

"  Would  Messere  permit  my  father  to  touch  his  hair  and 
face?" 

Her  eyes  inevitably  made  a  timid  entreating  appeal  while 
she  asked  this,  and  Tito's  met  them  with  soft  brightness  as  he 
said,  "  Assuredly ;"  and,  leaning  forward,  raised  Bardo's  hand 
to  his  curls,  with  a  readiness  of  assent  which  was  the  greater 
relief  to  her  because  it  was  unaccompanied  by  any  sign  of 
embarrassment. 

Bardo  passed  his  hand  again  and  again  over  the  long  curls 
and  grasped  them  a  little,  as  if  their  spiral  resistance  made  his 
inward  vision  clearer ;  then  he  passed  his  hand  over  the  brow 
and  cheek,  tracing  the  profile  with  the  edge  of  his  palm  a"/l 
fourth  finger,  and  letting  the  breadth  of  his  hand  repose  on 
the  rich  oval  of  the  cheiik. 

4 


74  110.M0I.A.  .    • 

"Ah  !"  he  said,  as  liis  liand  crli<lcd  from  the  face  and  rested 
on  the  yoniitr  man's  shoulder.  "  Jle  must  bo  very  unlike  thy 
brother,  Komola :  and  it  is  the  belter.  You  see  no  visions,  I 
trust,  my  youni;  friend  ?" 

At  this  moinejit  the  door  opened,  and  there  entered,  nnan- 
nouneed,  a  tall  elderly  man  in  a  handsome  blaek  silk  Inrro, 
wlio,  nnwinding  his  becchetto  froni  liis  neck  and  taking  off  liis 
cap,  disclosed  a  head  as  \vhite  as  Bardo's.  lie  cast  a  keerx 
glance  of  surprise  at  the  grnu|>  before  liiin — the  young  stran- 
ger leaning  in  tliat  iilial  attitude,  while  JJardo's  hand  rested 
on  his  shoulder,  and  Komola  sitting  near  \vitli  eyes  dilated 
by  anxiety  and  agitation.  l>ut  there  was  an  instantaneous 
change:  JJardo  let  fall  his  IuukI,  Tito  raised  himself  from  his 
8too])ing  posture,  and  Komola  rose  to  meet  the  visitor  with 
an  alacrity  which  implied  all  the  greater  intimacy,  because  it 
was  nnaecomjxinied  by  any  smile. 

'■^JiJb/H/it,ji!/liocci»<t,'"  said  the  stately  man,  as  he  touclied 
Romola's  shoulder ;  "  lifaso  said  you  had  a  visitor,  but  I  came 
in  nevertheless." 

"It  is  thou,  Bernardo,"  said  Bardo.  *'Thou  art  come  at  i 
fortunate  moment.  This,  young  man,"  lie  continued,  while 
Tito  rose  and  bowed, "  is  one  of  the  chief  citizens  of  Florence, 
Messer  Bernardo  del  Nero,  my  oldest,  I  liad  almost  said  my 
only  friend — whose  good  opinion,  if  you  can  win  it,  may  carry 
you  far.  lie  is  but  three-and-twenty,  Bernardo,  yet  he  can 
doub)tless  tell  thee  much  which  thou  wilt  care  to  hear;  for 
though  a  scholar,  he  has  already  travelled  far,  and  looked  on 
other  things  besides  the  manuscripts  for  which  thou  hast  too 
light  an  esteem." 

"Ah,  a  Greek,  as  I  augur,"  said  Bernardo,  returning  Tito's 
reverence  but  slightly,  and  surveying  him  with  that  sort  of 
glance  which  seenis  almost  to  cut  like  fine  steel.  "  Xewly  ar- 
rived in  Florence,  it  appears.  Tlie  name  of  Messcre — or  part 
of  it,  for  it  is  doubtless  a  long  one?" 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  Tito,  with  perfect  good-humor, 
'•  it  is  most  modestly  free  from  polysyllabic  pom]).  My  name 
is  Tito  INIelema." 

"  Uavijcro  /  (Indeed  ?)"  said  Bernardo,  rather  scornfully, 
as  he  took  a  seat, "  I  had  expected  it  to  be  at  least  as  long  as 
the  names  of  a  city,  a  river,  a  province,  and  an  empire  all  })ut 
together.  We  Florentines  mostly  use  names  as  we  do 
prawns,  and  strip  them  of  all  tlourishes  before  we  trust  them 
to  our  throats." 

'•"Well,  I'.ardo,"  he  continued,  as  if  the  stranger  were  no( 
worth  fvu'ther  notice,  and  changing  his  ione  of  sarcastic  sus^ 
piciou  for  one  of,  sadness,  "  we  have  buried  him  !" 


ROMOLA.  15 

"  Ah  !"  replied  Bardo,  with  corresponding  sadness,  "  and  a 
new  epoch  has  come  for  Florence — a  dark  one,  I  fear.  Loren- 
zo has  left  behind  him  an  inheritance  that  is  but  like  the  al- 
chemist's laboratory  when  the  wisdom  of  the  alchemist  is 
gone." 

"  Not  altogether  so,"  said  Bernardo.  "  Piero  de'  Medici 
has  abundant  intelligence  ;  his  faults  are  only  the  faults  of  hot 
blood,  I  love  the  lad — lad  he  will  always  be  to  me,  as  I  have 
always  been  j^adricciuolo  (little  fatlier)  to  him." 

"Yet  all  who  want  a  new  order  of  things  are  likely  to  con- 
ceive new  hopes,"  said  Bardo.  "  We  shall  have  the  old  strife 
of  parties,  I  fear." 

"If  we  could  have  a  new  order  of  things  that  was  some- 
thing else  than  knocking  down  one  coat  of  arms  to  put  up 
another,"  said  Bernardo,  "  I  should  be  ready  to  say,  '  I  belong 
to  no  party :  I  am  a  Florentine.'  But  as  long  as  parties  are 
in  question  I  am  a  Medicean,  and  will  be  a  Medicean  till  I  die. 
I  am  of  the  same  mind  as  Farinata  degli  Uberti :  if  any  man 
asks  me  what  is  meant  by  siding  with  a  party,  I  say  as  he  did, 
*  To  wish  ill  or  well,  for  the  sake  of  past  wrongs  or  kind- 
nesses.' " 

During  this  short  dialogue  Tito  had  been  standing,  and  now 
took  his  leave. 

"  But  come  again  at  the  same  hour  to-morrow,"  said  Bardo, 
graciously,  before  Tito  left  the  room,  "  that  I  may  give  you 
Bartolommeo's  answer." 

"  From  what  quarter  of  the  sky  has  this  pretty  Greek 
youngster  alighted  so  close  to  thy  chair,  Bardo  ?"  said  Bernai*- 
do  del  Nero,  as  the  door  closed.  He  spoke  with  dry  emphasis, 
evidently  intended  to  convev  something  more  to  Bardo  than 
was  implied  by  the  mere  words. 

"  He  is  a  scholar  who  has  been  shipwrecked  and  has  saved 
a  few  gems,  ft>r  which  he  wants  to  find  a  purchaser.  I  am 
going  to  send  him  to  Bartolommeo  Scala,  for  thou  knowest  it 
were  more  prudent  in  me  to  abstain  from  further  purchases." 

Bernardo  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  said,  "  Romola,  wilt 
thou  see  if  my  servant  is  without?  I  ordered  him  to  wait  for 
me  here."  Then,  when  Romola  was  at  a  sufficient  distance, 
he  leaned  forward  and  said  to  Bardo,  in  a  low  emphatic  tone: 

"  Remember,  Bardo,  thou  hast  a  rare  gem  of  thy  own ;  take 
care  no  man  gets  it  who  is  not  likely  to  pay  a  worthy  price. 
That  pretty  Greek  has  a  lithe  sleekness  about  him  that  seems 
marvellously  fitted  for  slipping  easily  into  any  nest  he  fixes  his 
mind  on." 

Bardo  was  startled  :  the  association  of  Tito  with  the  image 
of  his  lost  son  had  excluded  instead  of  sunrccestiner  the  thousrht 


76  ROMOLA, 


of  Romola.  But  almost  immediately  there  Becmcd  to  bo  a 
reaotioi!,  wliirli  made  him  grasp  the  warning  as  it  il  liad  been 
a  liuj)e. 

"  Jiiit  wliy  not,  liernardo?  If  the  younfj  man  approved 
himsell  wortliy — he  is  a  scholar — and — and  tliere  would  be  no 
difficulty  about  the  dowry,  which  always  makes  thee  gloomy." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A  LEARNED  SQUARBLE. 

Bartolommeo  Scala,  secretary  of  the  Florentine  Repul> 
lie,  on  whom  Tito  Melema  had  been  thus  led  to  anclu)r  his 
hopes,  lived  in  a  handsome  palace  close  to  the  Porta  a  Pinti, 
now  known  as  the  Casa  (iheraidesca.  His  arms — an  azure 
ladder  transverse  on  a  golden  lield,  with  the  motto  Gnulatim 
jjlaced  over  the  entrance — told  all  comers  that  the  miller's  son 
lield  his  ascent  to  honors  by  his  own  efforts  a  fact  to  be  pro- 
claimed without  wincing.  The  secretary  was  a  vain  and  pomp- 
ous man,  but  he  was  also  an  honest  one  :  he  was  sincerely  con- 
vinced of  his  own  merit,  and  could  see  no  reason  for  feigning. 
The  topmost  round  of  his  azure  ladder  had  been  reached  by 
this  time:  he  had  held  his  secretaryship  these  twenty  years 
— had  long  since  made  his  orations  on  the  rinr/hicra,  or  plat- 
form, of  tlie  Old  Palace,  as  the  custom  was,  in  the  presence  of 
]»rincely  visitors,  Avhile  IMarzocco,  the  reindtlican  lion,  wore 
his  gold  crown  on  the  occasion,  and  nil  the  people  cried, '' Viva 
Messer  I^artolommeo !" — had  been  on  an  embassy  to  Rome, 
and  had  there  Ix'en  made  titular  Senator,  Apostolical  Secretary, 
Knight  of  the  Golden  Spur;  and  had,  eight  years  ago,  been 
(Jonfaloniere — last  goal  of  the  Florentine  citizen's  and)ition. 
Meantime  he  had  got  richer  and  richer,  and  more  and  more 
gouty,  after  the  manner  of  successful  mortality;  and  the 
Knight  of  the  (xolden  Spur  had  often  to  sit  with  lu'lpless  cush- 
ioned heel  under  the  handsome  loggia  he  had  built  for  him- 
Belf,  overlooking  the  spacious  gardens  and  lawn  at  the  back  of 
his  palace. 

He  was  in  this  position  on  the  day  when  he  had  granted  the 
desired  interview  to  Tito  ]\Ielema.  The  May  afternoon  sun 
was  on  the  flowers  and  the  grass  beyond  the))Ieasant  shade  of 
the  loggia  ;  the  too  stately  silk  Ixcco  was  cast  aside,  and  a  light 
loose  mantle  was  thrown  over  his  tunic  ;  his  beautiful  daughter 
Alessandra  and  her  husband,  the  Greek  soldier-poet  Marullo, 
•were  seate(l  on  one  side  of  him  :  on  the  other,  two  friends, 
not  opj)ressively  illustrious,  and,  therefore,  the  better  listeners. 


ROMOLA.  77 

Yet,  to  say  nothing  of  the  gout,  Messer  Bartolommeo's  felicity 
was  far  from  perfect :  it  Avas  embittered  by  the  contents  of 
certain  papers  that  lay  before  him,  consisting  chiefly  of  a  cor- 
respondence between  himself  and  Politian.  It  was  a  human 
foible  at  that  period  (incredible  as  it  may  seem)  to  recite  quar- 
rels, and  favor  scholarly  visitors  with  the  communication  of  an 
entire  and  lengthy  corresjjondence ;  and  this  Avas  neither  the 
first  nor  the  second  time  that  Scala  had  asked  the  candid  opin- 
ion of  his  friends  as  to  the  balance  of  right  and  wrong  in  some 
half  score  Latin  letters  between  himself  and  Politian,  all  spring- 
ing out  of  certain  epigrams  written  in  the  most  playful  tone  in 
the  world.  It  was  the  story  of  a  very  typical  and  pretty  quar- 
rel, in  which  we  are  interested,  because  it  supplies  precisely 
that  thistle  of  hatred  necessary,  according  to  Nello,  as  a  stim- 
ulus to  the  sluggish  paces  of  the  cautious  steed,  Friendship. 

Politian,  having  been  a  rejected  pretender  to  the  love  and  the 
hand  of  Scala's  daughter,  kept  a  very  sharp  and  learned  tooth 
in  readiness  against  the  too  prosperous  and  presumptuous  sec- 
retary, who  had  declined  the  greatest  scholar  of  the  age  for 
a  son-in-law.  Scala  was  a  meritorious  public  servant,  and, 
moreover,  a  lucky  man — naturally  exasperating  to  an  offended 
scholar  ;  but  then — Oh  beautiful  balance  of  things  ! — he  had  an 
itch  for  authorship,  and  was  a  bad  writer — one  of  those  excel- 
lent people  who,  sitting  in  gouty  slippers,  "  penned  poetical 
trifles"  entirely  for  their  own  amusement,  without  any  view 
to  an  audience,  and,  consequently,  sent  them  to  their  fiiends  in 
letters,  which  were  the  literary  periodicals  of  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury. Now  Scala  had  abundance  of  friends  Avho  were  ready 
to  praise  his  writings  :  friends  like  Ficino  and  Landino — ami- 
able browsers  in  the  Medicean  park  along  with  himself — who 
found  his  Latin  prose  style  elegant  and  masculine;  and  the 
terrible  Joseph  Scaliger,  who  was  to  pronounce  him  totally 
ignorant  of  Latinity,  was  at  a  comfortable  distance  in  the  next 
century.  But  when  was  the  fatal  coquetry  inherent  in  super- 
fluous authorship  ever  quite  contented  with  the  ready  praise 
of  friends  ?  That  critical,  supercilious  Politian  —  a  fellow-  , 
browser,  who  was  far  from  amiable — must  be  made  aware  that  I' 
the  solid  secretary  showed,  in  his  leisure  hours,  a  pleasant  fer-  j, 
tility  in  verses,  that  indicated  pretty  clearly  how  much  he  f 
might  do  in  that  way  if  he  were  not  a  man  of  affairs. 

Ineffable  moment !  when  the  man  you  secretly  hate  sends 
you  a  Latin  epigram  with  a  false  gender — hendecasyllables 
with  a  questionable  elision,  at  least  a  toe  too  much — attempts 
at  poetic  iigtires  which  are  manifest  solecisms.  That  moment 
had  come  to  Politian :  the  secretary  had  put  forth  his  soft 
head  fi-om  the  ofiicial  shell,  and  the  terrible  lurking  crab  was 


78  ROMOLA. 

down  upon  linn.  Politian  had  used  the  freedom  of  ji  friend, 
and  pleasantly,  in  llic  torni  of  a  Latin  t-pii^ram,  curn-cted  the 
nii.stake  of  iScala  in  making  the  cuUx  (an  insect  well  known 
at  the  revival  of  learniuLr)  of  the  inferior  or  feminine  gender. 
Scala  replied  by  a  bad  joke,  in  suitable  Latin  verses,  referring 
to  Politian's  unsuecessful  suit.  lU'tter  and  better.  I'olitian 
found  the  verses  very  pretty  and  highly  facetious:  the  more 
was  the  pity  that  they  were  seriously  incorrect,  and  inasmuch  as 
Scala  had  alleged  that  he  had  writti'ii  them  in  imitation  of  a 
certain  Greek  epigram,  I'olitian,  being  on  such  friendly  terms, 
would  inclose  a  Greek  epigram  of  his  own,  on  the  same  inter- 
esting insect — not,  we  nniy  presume,  out  of  any  wish  to  lunnblo 
Scala,  but  rather  to  instruct  him  ;  said  epigram  containing  a 
lively  conceit  about  Venus,  ('u[)id,  and  the  cxlcr,  of  a  kind 
much  tasted  at  that  period,  but  unhajj])ily  founded  partly  on 
the  zoological  mistake  that  the  tlea,  like  the  gnat,  was  born 
from  the  waters.  Scala,  in  reply,  bi'gged  to  say  that  his  verses 
were  never  intended  for  a  scholar  with  such  ilelicate  olfactories 
as  Politian,  nearest  of  all  li\  ing  men  to  the  perfection  of  the 
ancients,  and  of  a  taste  so  fastidious  that  sturgeon  itself  must 
seem  insipid  to  him;  deien<led  his  own  verses,  nevertheless, 
though  indeed  they  were  written  liastily,  without  correction, 
and  intended  as  an  agreeable  distraction  during  the  summer 
lieat  to  himself  and  such  fi'iends  as  were  satisfied  with  medioc- 
rity, he  Scala,  not  being  like  some  other  people,  who  courted 
])ublicity  through  the  booksellers.  For  the  rest,  he  had  bare- 
ly enough  (xreek  to  make  out  the  sense  of  the  epigram  so  gra- 
ciously sent  him,  to  say  nothing  of  tasting  its  eleganc(!s ;  but 
the  epigram  was  Politian's ;  what  more  need  be  said  ?  Still, 
by  way  of  ])ostscript,  he  feared  that  his  incomparable  friend's 
comparison  of  the  ilea  to  Venus,  on  account  of  its  origin  from 
the  waters,  was  in  many  ways  ticklish.  \'enus  niiglit  l»e  of- 
fended, aii<l  that  cold  .mikI  danij)  origin  seemed  doubtful  in  the 
ease  of  a  creature  so  fund  of  warmth  :  a  fish  were  pei'ha))? 
the  better  comj)arison,  or,  when  the  j'Ower  of  Hying  was  in 
question,  an  eagle,  or,  indeed,  when  the  darkness  was  taken 
into  consideration,  a  bat  or  an  owl  were  a  less  obscure  and 
more  apposite  ])arallel,  etc.,  etc.  Here  was  a  great  opportuni- 
ty for  Politian.  lie  was  not  aware,  he  Mrote,  that  when  he 
had  Scala's  verses  placed  before  him,  there  was  any  ipiestion 
of  sturgeon,  but  rather  of  frogs  and  gudgeons:  made  short 
work  with  Scala's  defense  of  his  own  Latin,  and  mangled  him 
terril)ly  on  the  score  of  the  stn|)id  criticisms  he  had  ventured 
on  the  (xreek  epigram  kindly  forwarded  to  him  as  a  nn^del. 
"Wretched  cavils,  indeed  !  for  as  to  ilie  damj)  origin  of  the  flea, 
there  was  the  authority  of  Virgil  huuself,  who  had  called  it 


ItOMOLA.  79 

the  ^'■alumnus  of  the  waters;"  and  as  to  wliat  his  clear  dull 
friend  had  to  say  about  the  tish,  the  eagle,  and  the  rest,  it  was 
"  nihil  ad  rem  ;"  for,  because  the  eagle  could  fly,  it  by  no  means 
followed  that  the  flea  could  not  fly,  etc.,  etc.  He  was  ashamed, 
however,  to  dwell  on  such  trivialities,  and  thus  to  swell  a  flea 
into  an  elephant ;  but,  for  his  own  part,  would  only  add  that 
he  had  nothing  deceitful  and  double  about  him,  neither  was  he 
to  be  caught  when  present  by  the  false  blandishments  of  those 
who  slandered  him  in  his  absence,  agreeing  rather  with  a  Ho- 
meric sentiment  on  that  head — which  furnished  a  Greek  quota- 
tion  to  serve  as  powder  to  his  bullet. 

The  quarrel  could  not  end  there.  The  logic  could  hardly 
get  worse,  but  the  secretary  got  more  pompously  self-assert- 
ing, and  the  scholarly  poet's  temper  more  and  more  venomous. 
Politian  had  been  generously  willing  to  hold  up  a  mirror,  by 
which  the  too-inflated  secretary,  beholding  his  own  likeness, 
might  be  induced  to  cease  setting  up  his  ignorant  defenses  of 
bad  Latin  against  ancient  autliorities  whom  the  consent  of 
centuries  had  placed  beyond  question — unless,  indeed,  he  had 
designed  to  sink  in  literature  in  proportion  as  he  rose  in  hon- 
ors, that  by  a  sort  of  compensation  men  of  letters  might  feel 
themselves  his  equals.  In  return,  Politian  w^as  begged  to  ex- 
amine Scala's  writings :  nowhere  would  he  find  a  more  devout 
admiration  of  antiquity.  The  secretary  was  ashamed  of  the 
age  in  which  he  lived,  and  blushed  for  it.  ^^ome,  indeed, 
there  were  who  wanted  to  have  their  own  Avorks  praised  and 
exalted  to  a  level  with  the  divine  monuments  of  antiquity ; 
but  he,  Scala,  could  not  oblige  them.  And  as  to  the  honors 
Avhich  were  offensive  to  the  envious,  they  had  been  Avell  earn- 
ed ;  witness  his  whole  life  since  he  came  in  penury  to  Florence. 
The  elegant  scholar,  in  rej^ly,  was  not  surprised  that  Scala 
found  the  Age  distasteful  to  him,  since  he  himself  was  so  dis- 
tasteful to  the  Age ;  nay,  it  was  with  perfect  accuracy  that  he, 
the  elegant  scholar,  had  called  Scala  a  branny  monster,  inas- 
much as  he  was  formed  from  the  offscourings  of  monsters. 
born  amidst  the  refuse  of  a  mill,  and  eminently  worthy  the 
long-eared  office  of  turning  the  paternal  millstones  {in  pistrini 
sordibus  natus  el  quidem  pistrino  dir/nissitnus)  ! 

It  was  not  without  reference  to  Tito's  appointed  visit  that 
the  papers  containing  this  correspondence- were  brought  out 
to-day.  Here  was  a  new  Greek  scholar  whose  accomplisn- 
raents  were  to  be  tested ;  and  on  nothing  did  Scala  more  de- 
sire a  dispassionate  opinion  from  persons  of  superior  knowl- 
edge than  that  Greek  epigi-am  of  Politian's.  After  sufticient 
introductory  talk  concerning  Tito's  travels,  after  a  survey  and 
discussion  of  the  gems,  and  an  easy  passage  from  the  mention 


80  UOMOLA. 

of  the  lamented  Lorenzo's  eagerness  in  collecting  such  sj)eci- 
jnens  of  ancient  art  to  tlie  subject  of  classical  tastes  and 
studies  in  general,  and  their  ]>rcsent  condition  in  Florence,  it 
was  inevital)le  to  mention  Pulitian,  a  man  ol  eminent  ahilitv, 
indee<l,but  a  little  too  arrogant — assuming  to  be  a  Hercules, 
wiiose  office  it  was  to  destroy  all  the  literaiy  monstrosities  of 
tlie  age,  and  writing  letters  to  his  elders  without  signing 
them,  as  if  they  were  miraculous  revelations  that  couhi  only 
have  one  source.  And  after  all,  were  not  liis  own  criticisms 
often  questionable  and  his  .astes  perverse?  lie  was  fond  of 
saying  pungent  things  about  the  men  who  thought  they  wrote 
like  Cicero  because  they  ended  every  sentence  with  "  esse  vi- 
deturf  but  while  he  was  boasting  of  his  fi-eedom  from  servile 
imitation,  did  he  not  fall  into  the  other  extreme,  running  after 
strange  words  and  affected  }»hrases?  Even  in  liis  nmch-be- 
lauded  Miscellanea,  was  every  point  tenable?  And  Tito,  who 
lind  just  been  looking  into  the  ^[lsriUain'a,iowi\<\  so  much  to 
sav  that  was  agreeable  to  the  secretary — he  would  have  done 
so  from  the  mere  disposition  to  please,  Avithout  further  mo- 
tive— that  he  showed  himself  quite  "worthy  to  be  made  a 
J'udge  in  the  notable  c()rresj)ondence  concerning  the  ciilcx. 
lere  was  the  Greek  e]»igram  which  Politian  had  doubtless 
thought  the  finest  in  the  world,  though  he  had  pretended  Xf- 
believe  that  the  "  transmarini,"  the  Greeks  themselves,  woul(> 
make  light  of  it:  had  he  not  been  unintentionally  speaking 
the  truth  in  his  false  modesty  ? 

Tito  was  ready,  and  scarified  the  ejiigram  to  Scala's  con- 
tent. O  wise  yom)g  jutlge !  lie  could  doubtless  appreciate 
satire  even  in  the  vulgar  tongue,  and  Scala — who,  excellent 
man,  not  seeking  publicity  through  the  booksellers,  was  never 
mii)rovided  with  "hasty  uncorrected  trifles,"  as  a  sort  of 
sherbet  for  a  visitor  on  a  hot  day,  or,  if  the  weather  were 
cold,  why  then  as  a  cordial — had  a  few  little  mafters  in  the 
sliape  of  {Sonnets,  turning  on  well-known  foibles  of  Politian's, 
which  he  Mould  not  like  to  go  any  farther,  but  which  would, 
perhaps,  amuse  the  com])any. 

Enough  :  Tito  took  his  leave  under  an  urgent  invitation  to 
come  again.  His  gems  were  interesting  ;  especially  the  agate, 
with  the  litsus  7iatiinr  in  it — a  most  wonderful  semblance  of 
Cupid  riding  on  the  lion;  and  the  "Jew's  stone,"  with  the 
lion-headed  serpent  enchased  in  it;  both  of  which  the  secre- 
tary agreeil  to  buy — the  latter  as  a  reinforcement  of  his  jire- 
ventives  against  the  gout,  which  gave  him  such  severe  twinges 
that  it  was  ])lain  enough  how  intolerable  it  would  be  if  he 
were  not  well  supplii'd  with  rings  of  rare  virtue,  and  with  an 
amulet  worn  close  uiuler  the  right  breast.     IJut  Tito  was  as- 


EOMOLA.  81 

sured  that  he  himself  was  more  interesting  than  }  if  gems. 
He  had  won  his  May  to  the  Scala  Palace  by  the  recommenda- 
tion of  Bardo  de'  Bardi,  who,  to  be  sure,  was  Scala's  old  ac- 
quaintance and  a  worthy  scliolar,  in  spite  of  his  overvaluing 
himself  a  little  (a  frequent  foible  in  the  secretary's  friends)  ; 
but  he  must  come  again  on  the  ground  of  his  own  manifest 
accomplishments. 

The  interview  could  hardly  have  ended  more  auspiciously 
for  Tito,  and  as  he  walked  out  at  the  Porta  a  Pinti  that  he 
might  laugh  a  little  at  his  ease  at  the  aifair  of  the  culex,  he 
felt  that  Fortune  could  hardly  mean  to  turn  her  back  on  hira 
again  at  present,  since  she  had  taken  him  by  the  hand  in  this 
decided  way. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A    rAC:E    IN    THE    CROWJJ. 

It  is  easy  to  northern  people  to  rise  early  on  Mid-summei 
morning  to  see  the  dew  on  the  grassy  edge  of  the  dusty  path- 
>vav,  to  notice  the  fresh  shoots  amon<?  the  darker  <jreen  of  the 
oak  and  fir  in  the  coppice,  and  to  look  over  the  gate  at  the 
shorn  meadow,  without  recollecting  that  it  is  the  Nativity  of 
Saint  Jolm  the  Baptist. 

Not  so  to  the  Florentine — still  less  to  the  Florentine  of  the 
fifteenth  century :  to  him  on  that  particular  morning  the 
brightness  of  the  eastern  sun  on  the  Arno  had  something 
special  in  it;  the  ringing  of  the  bells  Avas  articulate,  and  de- 
clared it  to  be  the  great  summer  festival  of  Horence,  the  day 
of  San  Giovanni. 

San  Giovanni  has  been  the  patron  saint  of  Florence  for  at 
least  eight  hundred  years — ever  since  the  time  when  the  Lom- 
bard Queen  Theodolinda  had  commanded  her  subjects  to  do 
liim  peculiar  honor;  nay,  says  old  Villani,  to  the  best  of  his 
knowledge,  ever  since  the  days  of  Constantino  the  Great  and 
Pope  Sylvester,  when  the  Florentines  deposed  their  idol  Mars, 
whom  they  were  nevertheless  careful  not  to  treat  with  con- 
tumely ;  for  while  they  consecrated  their  beautiful  and  noble 
temple  to  the  honor  of  God  and  of  the  "  Beato  Messere  Santo 
Giovanni,"  they  placed  old  Mars  respectfully  on  a  high  tower 
near  the  River  Arno,  finding  in  certain  ancient  memorials  that 
he  had  been  elected  as  their  tutelar  deity  under  such  astral  in- 
fluences that  if  he  were  broken,  or  otherwise  treated  Avith  in- 
dignity, the  city  would  suffer  great  damage  and  mutation. 
But  in  the  fifteenth  century  that  discreet  regard  to  the  feei 

A* 


82  KOMOLA. 

ings  of  the  IMan-dcstroyer  had  long  vanished :  the  god  of  tho 
spear  and  sliield  had  ceased  to  frown  by  the  side  of  the  Arno, 
and  the  ilefenses  of  tlie  RepuhHc  were  lield  to  lie  in  its  eraft 
and  ils  coilVrs.  For  s))ear  and  shield  could  be  liireil  by  gold 
florins,  and  on  tho  gold  florins  there  had  always  been  the  im- 
age of  San  Giovanni. 

Much  good  had  conic  to  Florence  since  the  dim  time  of 
struggle  between  the  old  patron  and  the  new  :  some  <|uarrel- 
ling  aii(|  bloodshed,  doubtless,  between  Guelf  and  (ihibclline, 
between  Klack  and  White,  between  orthodox  Hons  of  the 
Church  and  heretic  Pateiiiii ;  some  floods,  famine,  and  jiesti- 
lence  ;  but  still  much  wealth  and  glory.  Florence  had  achieved 
conquests  over  walled  cities  once  mightier  than  itself,  and  es- 
pecially over  hated  Pisa,  whose  marble  buildings  were  too  high 
and  beautiful,  whose  masts  were  too  much  honored  on  Greek 
and  Italian  coasts.  The  name  of  Plorence  had  been  growing 
prouder  and  prouder  m  all  the  courts  of  Europe,  n;iy,  in  Africa 
itself,  on  the  streiiglh  of  purest  gold  coinage,  linesl  dyes  and 
textures,  pre-eminent  scholarshij)  and  poetic  genius,  and  wits 
of  the  most  serviceable  sort  for  statesmanship  and  banking  : 
it  was  a  name  so  omnipresent  that  a  Pope  with  a  turn  for  epi- 
gram had  called  FloriMitiiu's  "  the  fifth  element."  And  for  this 
high  destiny,  tliough  it  might  partly  depend  on  the  stars  and 
ISIadonna  dell'  Impruiieta,  and  certainly  depended  on  other 
higher  Powers  less  often  named,  the  ]»raise  was  greatly  due  to 
San  Giovanni,  whose  image  was  on  the  fair  gold  florins. 

Therefore  it  was  fitting  that  the  day  of  San  Giovanni — that 
ancient  Church  festival  already  venerable  in  the  days  of  St. 
Augustine — should  l»e  a  day  of  peculiar  rejoicing  to  Florence, 
and  should  be  ushered  in  by  a  vigil  duly  kept  in  strict  old 
F'lorentine  fashion,  with  much  dancing,  with  much  sti'cet  jest- 
ing, and  jterhaps  with  not  a  little  stone-throwing  and  window- 
breaking,  but  emphatically  with  certain  street  sights  such  as 
could  only  be  provided  by  a  city  which  held  in  its  service  a 
clever  Cecca,  engineer  and  architect,  valual)Ie  alike  in  sieges 
an<l  shows.  Jiy  the  help  of  Cecca,  the  very  Saints,  surrounded 
with  their  almond-shaped  glory,  and  floating  on  clouds  with 
their  joyous  compaiiionshi|)  of  winged  cherubs,  even  as  they 
may  be  seen  to  this  day  m  the  pictures  of  Perugino,  seemed, 
on  the  eve  of  San  Giovanni,  to  have  brought  their  ])iece  of  the 
heavens  down  into  the  narrow  streets,  and  to  pass  slowly 
through  them  ;  and,  more  wonderful  still,  saints  of  gigantic 
size,  with  attendant  angels,  might  be  seen,  not  seated,  but  mov- 
ing in  a  .slow,  mysterious  maimer  along  the  streets,  like  a  pro- 
cession of  colossal  figures  come  down  from  the  high  domes 
find  tribunes  ot  the  churches.     The  clouds  were  made  of  aood 


EOMOLA.  '      83 

woven  stuff,  the  saints  and  cherubs  were  iinglorified  mortals, 
supported  by  firm  bars,  and  those  mysterious  giants  were 
really  men  of  very  steady  brain,  balancing  themselves  on  stilts, 
and  enlarged,  like  Greek  tragedians,  by  huge  masks  and  stuff- 
ed shoulders ;  but  he  was  a  miserably  unimaginative  Floren- 
tine who  thought  only  of  that — nay,  somewhat  impious,  for  in 
the  images  of  sacred  things  was  there  not  some  of  the  virtue 
of  sacred  things  themselves  ?  And  if,  after  that,  there  came  a 
company  of  merry  black  demons,  well-armed  with  (;laws  and 
thongs,  and  other  implements  of  sport,  ready  to  perform  im- 
promptu farces  of  bastinadoing  and  clothes-tearing,  why,  that 
was  the  demons'  way  of  keeping  a  vigil,  and  they,  too,  might 
have  descended  from  the  domes  and  the  tribunes.  The  Tus- 
can mind  slipped  from  the  devout  to  the  burlesque  as  readily 
as  water  round  an  angle  ;  and  the  saints  had  already  had  their 
turn,  had  gone  their  way,  and  made  their  due  pause  before  the 
gates  of  San  Giovanni,  to  do  him  honor  on  the  eve  of  his  festa. 
And  on  the  morrow,  the  great  day  thus  ushered  in,  it  was  fit- 
ting that  the  tributary  symbols  paid  to  Florence  by  all  its  de- 
pendent cities,  districts,  and  villages,  Avhether  conquered,  pro- 
tected, or  of  immemorial  possession,  should  be  offered  at  the 
shrine  of  San  Giovanni  in  the  old  octagonal  church,  once  the 
cathedral,  and  now  the  baptistery,  where  every  Florentine  had 
had  the  sign  of  the  Cross  made  with  the  anointing  chrism  on 
his  brow  ;  that  all  the  city,  from  the  white-haired  man  to  the 
stripling,  and  from  the  matron  to  the  lisping  child,  should  be 
clothed  in  its  best  to  do  honor  to  the  great  day,  and  see  the 
great  sight ;  and  that  again,  when  the  sun  was  sloping  and  the 
streets  were  cool,  there  should  be  the  glorious  race  or  Corso, 
when  the  unsaddled  horses,  clothed  in  rich  trappings,  should 
run  right  across  the  city,  from  the  Porta  al  Prato  on  the  north- 
west, through  the  INIercato  Vecchio,  to  the  Porta  Santa  Croce 
on  the  southeast,  where  the  richest  of  Palii,  or  velvet  and  bro- 
cade banners  with  silk  linings  and  fringe  of  gold,  such  as  be- 
came a  city  that  half  clothed  the  well-dressed  world,  were 
mounted  on  a  triumphal  car  awaiting  the  winner  or  winner's 
owner. 

And  thereafter  followed  more  dancing ;  nay,  through  the 
the  whole  day,  says  an  old  chronicler  at  the  beginning  of  that 
century,  there  were  weddings  and  the  grandest  gatheringh-,  ■ 
with  so  much  piping,  music,  and  song,  with  balls,  and  feasts, ; 
and  gladness,  and  ornament,  that  this  earth  might  have  been  ■ 
mistaken  for  Paradise  ! 

In  this  year  of  1492  it  was,  perhaps,  a  little  less  easy  to 
make  that  mistake.  Lorenzo  the  magnificent  and  subtle  Avas 
dead,  and  an  arrpgant,  incautious  Piero  was  come  in  his  room." 


«4  ::oMOLA. 

an  evil  chancjo  for  Florence,  unless,  indeed,  the  wise  horse  pr«i 
fers  tlie  b:ul  ridiT,  as  more  easily  thrown  from  liis  saddle  ;  and 
already  the  n-j^ruts  for  Loreii/o  were  i^ettinij  k-ss  ])rt'd(tmiii:mt 
over  tlie  murmured  desire  for  government  on  u  broader  basis, 
in  which  corruption  might  be  arrested,  and  there  might  be 
that  free  })lay  for  every  body's  jealousy  and  ambition  which 
made  the  ideal  liberty  of  the  good  old  (juarrelsome,  struggling 
times,  when  Florence;  raised  her  great  buildings,  reared  her 
own  soldiers,  drove  out  would-be  tyrants  at  the  sword's  point, 
and  was  jiroud  to  keep  faitli  at  her  own  loss.  Lorenzo  was 
dead,  Pope  Iinujcent  was  dying,  and  a  troublesome  Neapolitan 
succession,  with  an  intriguing,  ambitions  ]Milan,  might  set  Italy 
bv  the  ears  before  long :  the  times  were  likelv  to  be  difficult. 
Still  there  was  all  the  more  reason  that  the  Uepublic  should 
keep  its  religious  festivals. 

And  Mid-summer  morning,  in  this  year  1492,  was  not  less 
bright  than  usual.  It  was  betimes  in  the  morning  that  the 
symbolic  offeiiugs  to  be  carried  in  grand  [irocession  were  all 
assembled  at  their  starting-point  in  the  Piazza  della  Signoria 
— that  famous  Piazza,  where  stood  then,  and  stand  now,  the 
massive  turreted  Palace  of  the  People,  called  the  Palazzo  Vec- 
chio,  and  the  sj)acious  Loggia,  built  l>y  Orcagna — the  scene  of 
all  grand  State  ceremonial.  The  sky  made  the  fairest  blue 
tent,  and  under  it  the  bells  swung  so  vigorously  that  every  evil 
spirit  with  sense  enough  to  be  formidable  must  long  since  have 
taken  his  flight;  windows  and  terraced  roofs  were  alive  with 
human  faces;  sombre  stone  houses  were  bright  with  hanging 
drajK'ries  ;  the  boldly-soaritig  ]>alace  tower,  the  yet  older  square 
tower  of  the  Bargello,  and  the  spire  of  the  neighl)oring  iiadia, 
seemed  to  keep  watch  above ;  and  below,  on  the  broad  polygonal 
flags  of  the  piazzi,  was  the  glorious  show  of  banners  and  horses 
with  rich  trai)pings  and  gigantic  cerf,  or  tapers,  that  were  fitly 
called  towers — strangely  aggrandized  descendants  of  those 
torches  by  whose  faint  light  the  Church  worshij^ped  in  tlie 
catacotnl^s.  Hetimes  in  the  morning  all  i)rocessu>ns  had  need 
to  move  under  the  Mid-summer  sky  of  Florence,  where  the 
shelter  of  the  narrow  streets  must  every  now  and  then  be  ex- 
changed for  the  glare  of  wide  spaces  ;  and  the  sun  would  be 
high  up  in  the  lieavens  before  the  long  pomp  had  ended  its 
pilgrimage  in  the  l*iazza  di  San  (Tiovamii. 

But  here,  where  the  ])rocession  was  to  pause,  the  magnifi- 
cent city,  Avith  its  ingenious  Cecca,  had  pi-ovided  another  tent 
than  the  sky  ;  for  the  whole  of  the  Piazza  del  Duoino,  from  the 
octagonal  Itaptistery  in  the  centre  of  the  fa5ade  of  the  cathedrrtl 
and  the  walls  of  the  houses  on  the  other  sides  of  the  quadrangle, 
was  covered,  at  the  height  of  forty  feet  or  more,  with  blqe 


ROMOLA.  85 

draperj,  adorned  with  well-stitched  yelloAV  lilies  and  the  famil- 
iai-  coats  of  arms,  while  sheaves  of  many-colored  banners 
drooped  at  fit  angles  under  this  superincumbent  blue — a  gor- 
geous rainbow-lit  shelter  to  the  waiting  spectators  who  leaned 
from  the  windows,  and  made  a  narrow  border  ou  the  pavement 
and  wished  for  the  coming  of  the  show. 

One  of  those  spectators  was  Tito  Melema.  Bright,  in  the 
midst  of  brightness,  he  sat  at  the  window  of  the  room  above 
Nello's  shop,  his  right  elbow  resting  on  the  red  drapery  hang- 
ing from  the  window-sill,  and  his  head  supported  in  a  back- 
ward position  by  the  right  hand,  which  pressed  the  curls 
against  his  ear.  His  face  wore  that  bland  liveliness,  as  far  re- 
moved from  excitability  as  from  heaviness  or  gloom,  which 
marks  the  companion  popular  alike  among  men  and  women — 
the  companion  who  is  never  obtrusive  or  noisy  from  uneasy 
vanity  or  excessive  animal  spirits,  and  whose  brow  is  never 
contracted  by  resentment  or  indignation.  He  showed  no  oth- 
er change  from  the  two  months  and  more  that  had  passed  since 
his  first  appearance  in  the  weather-stained  tunic  and  hose,  than 
that  added  radiance  of  good  fortune,  which  is  like  the  just 
perceptible  perfecting  of  a  fiower  after  it  has  drunk  in  a  morn- 
ing's sunbeams.  Close  l)ehind  him,  ensconced  in  the  narrow 
angle  between  his  chair  and  the  window-frame,  stood  the  slim 
figure  of  Nello  in  holiday  suit,  and  at  his  left  the  younger 
Cennini — Pietro,  the  erudite  corrector  of  proof-sheets,  not 
Domenico  the  practical.  Tito  was  looking  alternately  down  on 
the  scene  below,  and  upward  at  the  varied  knot  of  gazers  and 
talkers  immediately  around  him,  some  of  whom  had  come  in 
after  witnessing  the  commencement  of  the  procession  in  the 
Piazza  della  Signoria.  Piero  di  Cosimo  Avas  raising  a  laugh 
among  them  by  his  grimaces  and  anathemas  at  the  noise  of  the 
bells,  against  which  no  kind  of  ear-stuffing  was  a  sufficient  bar- 
ricade, since  the  more  he  stuffed  his  ears  the  more  he  felt  the 
vibration  of  his  skull,  and  declaring  that  he  would  bury  Mm- 
self  in  the  most  solitary  spot  of  the  Valdarno  on  afesta,  if  he 
were  not  condemned,  as  a  painter,  to  lie  in  wait  for  the  secrets 
of  color  that  Avere  sometimes  to  be  caught  from  the  floating  of 
banners  and  the  chance  grouping  of  the  multitude. 

Tito  had  just  turned  his  laughing  face  away  from  the 
whimsical  painter  to  look  down  at  the  small  drama  going  on 
among  the  checkered  border  of  spectators,  when  at  the  angle 
of  the  marble  steps  in  front  of  the  Duomo,  nearly  opposite 
Nello's  shop,  he  saw  a  man's  face  up-turned  towards  him,  and 
fixing  on  him  a  gaze  that  seemed  to  have  more  meaning  in  it 
than  the  ordinary  passing  observatio:i  of  a  stranger.  It  was  a 
face  with  tonsured  head,  that  rose  above  the  black  mantle  and 


86  ROMOLA, 

white  tunic  of  a  Dominican  friar — a  very  common  sit^lit  in  Flor* 
ence;  but  the  glance  had  something  peculiar  in  it  for  Tito.  There 
was  a  faint  suggestion  in  it,  certainly  not  of  an  unpleasant  kind. 
But  what  pleasant  association  had  lie  ever  had  with  monks? 
None.  The  glance  and  the  suggestion  were  hardly  longer 
tlu'.n  a  Hash  of  lightning. 

"  \cIlo !"  said  Tito,  hastilv,  but  immcdiatolv  adtled,  in  a  tone 
of  disappointUK'ut, '"  Ah,  he  has  turned  louiid.  It  was  that 
tall,  thin  friar  who  is  going  up  tiie  steps.  1  wanted  you  to  teii 
me  if  you  knew  aught  of  him  ?" 

''  One  of  the  Frati  Predicatori,"  said  Nello,  carelessly ;  "  you 
don't  expect  me  to  know  the  private  history  of  the  crows." 

"  I  seem  to  remember  something  about  his  face,"  said  Tito. 
"  It  is  an  uncommon  face." 

"  What  y  you  thought  it  might  be  our  Fra  Girolamo  ?  Too 
tall ;  and  he  never  shows  liimself  in  that  chance  way." 

"  Besides,  that  loud-barking  '  houiul  of  the  Lord  '*  is  not  in 
Florence  just  now,"  sai<l  Francesco  C'ei,  the  popular  j)0et ;  "  he 
has  taken  Fiero  de'  Medici's  hint,  to  carry  his  railing  pro]ihecies 
on  a  journey  for  a  while." 

"The  Frate  neither  rails  nor  pro])hesies  against  any  man," 
said  a  middle-aged  ])ersonage  seated  at  the  outer  corner  of  the 
window  ;  "  he  only  prophesies  against  vice.  If  you  think  that 
an  attack  on  your  poems,  Francesco,  that  is  not  the  Frate's 
fault." 

"Ah,  he's  gone  into  the  Duomo  now,"  said  Tito,  wlio  had 
watched  the  figure  eagerly.  "  No,  I  was  not  under  that  mis- 
take, Nello.  Your  Fra  (iirolamo  lias  a  high  nose  and  a  large 
under-lip.  I  saw  him  once — he  is  not  handsome;  but  this 
man — " 

"  Truce  to  your  descriptions  !"  said  Cennini.  "  Hark  !  see  ! 
Here  come  the  horsemen  and  the  banners.  That  standard," 
he  continued,  laying  his  hand  fnmiliaily  on  Tito's  shoulder — ■ 
"  that  carried  on  the  horse  w  ith  w  hite  trappings — that  with 
the  red  eagle  liolding  the  green  dragon  between  his  talons,  and 
the  red  lily  over  the  eagle — is  the  gonfalon  ot  the  Guelf  party, 
and  those  cavaliers  close  round  it  are  the  chief  officers  of  the 
(tucIF  i)arty.  That  is  one  of  our  proudest  l)anners,  grumble  as 
We  may;  it  means  the  trium])h  of  the  (Juelfs.  which  meauH 
the  triumjth  of  Florentine  will,  which  means  triumph  of  the 
popolani.'''' 

"  Nay,  go  on,  Cennini,"  said  the  middle-aged  man,  seated  at 
the  window,  "which  means  triumph  of  the  ial  j)ojjulani  over 

*  A  iilavon  the  naiiio  df  tlie  Dominicans  ("AjHi/Vii  Cunes)  which  was  accept- 
ed l)v  tlieiusclvc's,  and  wiii(.li  is  ijictoiially  represented  in  n  frebco  jiainted  f'ol 
them  !>>■  Ni'Done  Meimni. 


ROMOLA.  87 

the  lean,  which  again  means  triumph  of  the  fattest  popolano 
over  those  who  are  less  fat." 

"  Cronaca,  you  are  becoming  sententious,"  said  the  printer  ; 
"  Fra  Girohimo's  preaching  will  spoil  you,  and  make  you  take 
life  by  the  wrong  handle.  Trust  me,  your  cornices  will  lose 
half  their  beauty  if  you  begin  to  mingle  bitterness  with  them; 
that  is  the  maniera  Tedesca  which  you  used  to  declaim  against 
when  you  came  from  Rome.  The  next  palace  you  build  we 
shall  see  you  trying  to  put  the  Frate's  doctrine  into  stone." 

"  That  is  a  goodly  show  of  cavaliers,"  said  Tito,  who  had 
learned  by  thistime  the  best  way  to  please  Florentines;  "but 
are  there  not  strangers  among  them  ?  I  see  foreign  cos- 
tumes." 

"  Assuredly,"  said  Cennini ;  "  you  see  there  the  Orators 
from  France,  "]Milan,  and  Venice,  and  behind  them  are  English 
and  German  nobles ;  for  it  is  customary  that  all  foreign  visit- 
ors of  distinction  pay  their  tribute  to  San  Giovanni  in  the 
train  of  that  gonfalon.  For  my  part,  I  think  our  Florentine 
cavaliers  sit  their  horses  as  well  as  any  of  those  cut-and-thrusr. 
northerns,  whoso  wits  lie  in  their  heels  and  saddles  ;  and  for 
yon  Venetian,  I  fancy  he  would  feel  himself  more  at  ease  on 
the  back  of  a  dolphin.  We  ought  to  know  something  of 
horsemanship,  for  we  excel  all  Italy  in  the  sports  of  the  Giostra, 
and  the  money  we  spend  on  them.  But  you  will  see  a  finer 
show  of  our  chief  men  by-and-by,  Melema ;  my  brother  him- 
self will  be  among  the  officers  of  the  Zecca." 

"  The  baimers  are  the  better  sight,"  said  Piero  di  Cosimo, 
forgetting  the  noise  in  his  delight  at  the  winding  stream  of 
color  as  the  tributary  standards  advanced  round  the  piazza. 
"  The  Florentine  men  are  so-so  ;  they  make  but  a  sorry  show 
at  this  distance  with  their  patch  of  sallow  liesh-tint  above  the 
black  garments ;  but  those  banners  with  their  velvet,  and  satin, 
and  minever,  and  brocade,  and  their  endless  play  of  delicate 
light  and  shadow! — Va!  your  human  talk  and  doings  are  a 
tame  jest ;  the  only  passionate  life  is  in  form  and  color." 

"  Ah,  Piero,  if  Satanasso  could  paint,  thou  wouldst  sell  thy 
soul  to  learn  his  secrets,"  said  Nello.  "  But  there  is  little  like- 
lihood of  it,  seeing  the  blessed  angels  themselves  are  such  poor 
hands  at  chiaroscuro,  if  one  may  judge  from  their  eapo-d''opera^ 
the  Madonna  Nunziata." 

"  There  go  the  banners  of  Pisa  and  Arezzo,"  said  Cennini. 
"  Ay,  Messer  Pisano,  it  is  no  use  for  you  to  look  sullen  ;  you 
may  as  well  carry  your  banner  to  our  San  Giovanni  with  a 
good  grace.  '  Pisans  false,  Florentines  blind ' — the  second 
half  of  that  proverb  will  hold  no  longer.  There  come  the  en- 
signs of  our  subject  towns  and  signories,  Melema;  they  wLU 


88  ROMOLA. 

all  be  suapcndctl  in  San  Giovanni  until  this  Jay  next  year,  when 
they  will  give  place  to  new  ones." 

"They  are  a  fair  sight,"  said  Tito ;  "  and  San  Giovanni  will 
surely  be  as  well  satisfied  with  that  jiroduee  of  Italian  loonis 
as  Minerva  with  lier  pe])k»s,  especially  as  he  contents  himself 
with  so  little  drapery.  But  ray  eyes  are  less  delighted  with 
those  whirling  towers,  which  would  soon  make  rae  fall  from 
the  window  in  synipathetic  vertigo." 

The  "towers  "  of  which  Tito  spoke  were  a  part  of  the  pro- 
cession esteemed  very  glorious  by  the  Florentine  i)opulaee,  and, 
liaving  tlu'ir  origin,  jicihaps,  in  a  confuseil  combination  of  the 
tower-shaped  triumphal  car  which  the  Komans  borrowed  from 
the  Etruscans,  with  a  kind  of  hyperbole  for  the  all-efticacious 
wax  taper,  were  also  called  ceri.  But  inasmuch  as  all  hyper- 
bole is  impracticable  in  a  real  and  literal  fashion,  these  gigantic 
ceri,  some  of  them  so  large  as  to  be  of  necessity  carried  on 
wheels,  were  not  solid  but  hollow,  and  had  their  surface  made 
not  solely  of  wax,  but  of  wood  and  jiasteboard,  gildetl,  carved, 
and  painted,  as  real  sacred  tapers  often  are,  with  successive 
circles  of  figures — warriors  on  Iiorseback,  foot-soldiers  with 
lance  and  shield,  dancing  maitlens,  animals,  trees,  and  fruits, 
and  in  fine,  says  the  old  chronicler, "  all  things  that  could  de- 
light the  eye  and  the  heart ;"  x\w.  hollowness  having  tlie  further 
advantage  that  men  could  stand  inside  these  hyperbolic  tapers 
and  whiil  them  continually,  so  as  to  produce  a  jihantasmagorie 
effect,  which,  consideiing  the  towers  were  numerous,  must  have 
been  calculated  to  produce  dizziness  on  a  truly  magnificent 
scale. 

'■'■Pestilcyizn  r''  said  Piero  di  Cosimo,  moving  from  the  win- 
dow, "  those  whirling  circles  one  above  the  other  are  worse 
than  the  jangling  of  all  the  bells.  Let  me  know  when  the  last 
taper  has  passed." 

"  Nay,  you  will  surely  like  to  be  called  when  the  conta- 
dini  come  carrying  their  torches,"  said  Nello;  "you  would 
not  miss  the  men  of  the  Mugello  and  the  Casentino,  of  whom 
your  favorite  Lionardo  would  make  a  hundred  grotescpie 
sketches." 

"No,"  said  Piero,  resolutely;  "I  will  see  nothing  tili  the 
oar  of  the  Zecca  comes.  I  have  seen  clowns  enough  holding 
taj)ers  aslant,  both  with  and  M'ithout  cowls,  to  last  me  for  my 
life." 

"Here  it  comes,  then,  Piero — the  car  of  the  Zecca,"  called 
out  Nello,  after  an  interval  during  which  towei's  and  tapers  in 
a  descending  scale  of  size  had  been  making  their  slow  transit. 

"J'^ediddio  P''  exclaimed  PVancesco  Cei,  "  that  is  a  well-tau' 
ned  San  Giovanni !  some  sturdy  liomagnole  beggar-man,  I'll 


KOMOLA.  83 

warrant.  Our  Signory  plays  the  liost  to  all  tlie  Jewish  and 
Chiistian  scum  that  every  other  city  shuts  its  gates  against, 
and  lets  them  fatten  on  us  like  Saint  Anthony's  swine." 

To  make  clear  this  exclamation  of  Cei's,  it  must  be  under- 
stood that  the  car  of  the  Zecca,  or  Mint,  was  originally  an  im- 
mense wooden  tower  or  ccrv  adorned  after  the  same  fashion 
as  the  other  tributary  ceri,  mounted  on  a  splendid  car,  and 
drawn  by  two  mouse-colored  oxen,  whose  mild  heads  looked 
out  from  rich  trappings  bearing  the  arms  of  the  Zecca.     But 
the  latter  half  of  the  century  was  getting  rather  ashamed  of 
the  towers  with  their  circular  or  spiral  paintings,  which  had 
delighted  the  eyes  and  the  hearts  of  the  other  half,  so  that 
they  had  become  a  contemptuous  proverb,  and  any  ill-painted 
figure  looking,  as  will  sometimes  happen  to  figures  in  the  best 
ages  of  art,  as  if  it  had  been  boned  for  a  pie,  was  called  a  fan- 
toccio  da  cero,  a  tower-puppet ;  consequently  improved  taste, 
with  Cecca  to  help  it,  had  devised  for  the  magnificent  Zecca  a 
triumphal  car  like   a   pyramidal  catafalque,  with   ingenious 
wheels  warranted  to  turn  all  corners  easily.     Round  the  base 
were  living  figures  of  saints  and  angels  arrayed  in  sculptu- 
resque fashion  ;  and  on  the  summit,  at  the  height  of  thirty  feet, 
well  bound  to  an  iron  rod  and  holding  an  iron  cross  also 
firmly  infixed,  stood  a  living  representative  of  St.  John  the 
Baptist,  with  arms  and  legs  bare,  a  garment  of  tiger-skins 
about  his  body,  and  a  golden  nimbus  fastened  on  his  head — ■ 
as  the  Precursor  was  ^vont  to  appear  in  the  cloisters   and 
churches,  not  having  yet  revealed  himself  to  painters  as  the 
brown  and  sturdy  boy  who  made  one  of  the  Holy  Family. 
For  where  could  the  image  of  the  patron  saint  be  more  fitly 
placed  than  on  the  spubol  of  the  Zecca  ?     Was  not  the  royal 
prerogative  of  coining  money  the  surest  token  that  a  city  had 
won  its  independence?  and  by  the  blessing  of  San  Giovanni 
this  "beautiful  slieepfold  "  of  his  had  shown  that  token  ear- 
liest among  the  Italian  cities.     Nevertheless,  the  annual  func- 
tion of  representing  the  patron  saint  was  not  among  the  high 
prizes  of  public  life  ;  it  was  paid  for  with  ten  lire,  a  cake  weigh- 
ing fourteen  pounds,  two  bottles  of  wine,  and  a  handsome  sup- 
ply of  light  eatables  ;  the  money  being  furnished  by  the  magnifi- 
I  •ent  Zecca,  and  the  payment  in  kind  being  by  peculiar  "  priv- 
Jege"  presented  in  a  basket  suspended  on  a  pole   from  an 
upper  Avindow  of  a  private  house,  Avhereupon  the  eidolon  of 
the  austere  saint  at  once  invigorated  himself  with  a  reasonable 
share  of  the  sweets  and  wine,  threw  the  remnants  to  the  crowd, 
and  embraced  the  mightv  cake  securelv  Avith  his  right  arm 
through  the  remainder  of  his  passage.     This  was  the  attitude 
in  which  the  mimic  San  Giovanni  presented  himself  as  the  tail 


90  KOMOLA. 

car  jorko.il  an<l  vibrated  on  its  slow  way  round  tlie  piazza  to 
the  northern  yate  of  the  baptistery. 

"  There  go  the  Masters  of  the  Zecca,  and  tlierc  is  ray  broth« 
er — you  see  him,  Melenia  ?"  cried  Cennini,  with  an  agreeable 
stirring  of  pride  at  showing  a  stranger  wliat  was  too  famil- 
iar to  be  remarkable  to  fellow-citizens.  "Jiehind  come  the 
raembers  of  the  Corporation  of  C'alimara,*  the  dealers  in 
foreign  cloth,  to  wiiich  we  have  given  our  Florentine  finish; 
men  of  ripe  years,  you  see,  who  were  matriculated  before 
you  were  born ;  and  then  comes  the  famous  Art  of  Money- 
changers." 

"  Many  of  them  matriculated  also  to  the  noble  art  of  usury 
before  you  were  born,"  interrupted  Francesco  Cei,  "as  you 
may  discern  by  a  certain  iitful  glai'e  of  the  eye  and  sharp  curve 
of  the  nose  which  manifest  tlieir  descent  front  the  ancient  har- 
pies, whose  portraits  you  saw  supporting  the  arms  of  the  Zecca. 
Shaking  off  old  prejudices  now,  such  a  procession  as  that  of 
some  four  hundrod  ])assably  ugly  men  carrying  their  tapers  in 
open  daylight,  Diogenes-fashion,  as  if  they  were  looking  for  a 
lost  (juattrino,  would  make  a  merry  spectacle  for  the  feast  of 
fools." 

"  JJlaspheme  not  against  the  usages  of  our  city,"  said  Pietro 
Cennini,  much  offi-mled.  "  There  are  new  wits  who  think 
they  see  things  more  truly  because  they  stand  on  their  heads 
to  look  at  thein,  like  tuint)lers  and  mountebanks,  instead  of 
keeping  the  attitude  of  rational  men.  Doubtless  it  makes  lit- 
tle difference  to  Maestro  Vaiano's  monkeys  whether  they  see 
our  Donatello's  statue  of  Judith  with  their  heads  or  their  tails 
u])permost." 

"Your  solemnity  will  allow  some  quarter  to  playful  fancy, 
I  hope,"  said  Cei,  with  a  shrug,  "else  what  becomes  of  the  an- 
cients, whose  example  you  scholars  are  bound  to  revei'c,  Messer 
Pietro?  Life  was  never  any  thing  but  a  ])er])etual  see-saw 
between  gravity  and  jest." 

"Keep  your  jest  then  till  your  end  of  the  pole  is  upper- 
most," said  Cennini,  still  angry;  "and  that  is  not  Avhen  the 
great  bond  of  our  republic  is  expressing  itself  in  ancient  sym- 
bols, without  which  the  vulgar — the  popolo  ntinuto — would  bo 
conscious  of  nothinir  bevond  their  own  iiettv  wants  of  back  and 
stomach,  and  nevei-  rise  to  the  sense  of  comnninity  in  religion 
and  law.  There  has  been  no  great  j)eople  without  j)rocessions, 
and  the  man  who  thinks  himself  too  wise  to  be  moved  by 
tliein  to  any  thing  but  contempt,  is  like  the  puddle  that  was 
lircnid  of  standing  alone  while  tlie  river  rushed  bv." 

*  "Arte  di  Calimtua,"  "arte"  being,  in  this  ase  of  it,  equivalent  to  cop« 
poratipn. 


ROM  OIL  A,  91 

Ko  one  said  any  thing  after  this  indignant  burst  of  Cen- 
nini's  till  he  himself  spoke  again. 

"Hark  !  the  trumpets  of  the  Signoria:  now  comes  the  last 
stage  of  the  show,  Melema.  That  is  our  Gonfaloniere  in  the 
middle,  in  the  starred  mantle,  with  the  sword  carried  before 
him.  Twenty  years  ago  we  used  to  see  our  foreign  Podesta, 
who  was  our  judge  in  civil  causes, Avalking  on  his  right  hand; 
but  our  republic  has  been  over-doctored  by  clever  medici. 
That  is  the  Proposto*  of  the  Priori  on  the  left;  then  come 
the  other  seven  Priori ;  then  all  the  other  magistracies  and 
officials  of  our  republic.  You  see  your  patron  the  Segreta- 
rio  ?" 

"  There  is  Messer  Bernardo  del  Nero  also,"  said  Tito  ;  "  hig 
visage  is  a  fine  and  venerable  one,  though  it  has  Avorn  rather  a 
petrifying  look  towards  me." 

"  Ah,"  said  Nello,  "  he  is  the  dragon  that  guards  the  rem- 
nant of  old  Bardo's  gold,  which,  I  fancy,  is  chiefly  that  virgin 
gold  that  falls  about  the  fair  Romola's  head  and  shoulders  ; 
eh,  my  Apollino?"  he  added,  patting  Tito'    head. 

Tito  had  the  youtliful  grace  of  blushing,  but  he  had  also 
the  adroit  and  ready  speech  that  prevents  a  blush  from  looking 
like  embarrassment.     He  replied  at  once  : 

"  And  a  very  Pactolus  it  is — a  stream  with  golden  ripples. 
If  I  were  an  alchemist — " 

He  Avas  saved  from  the  need  for  further  speech  by  the  sud- 
den fortissimo  of  drums  and  trumpets  and  fifes,  bursting  into 
the  breadth  of  the  piazza  in  a  grand  storm  of  sound— a  roar,  a 
blast,  and  a  whistling,  well  befitting  a  city  famous  for  its  mu- 
sical instruments,  and  reducing  the  members  of  the  closest 
group  to  a  state  of  deaf  isolation. 

During  this  interval  Nello  observed  Tito's  fingers  moving 
in  recognition  of  some  one  in  the  crowd  below,  but  not  seeing 
the  direction  of  his  glance  he  failed  to  detect  the  object  of  this 
greeting — the  sweet  round  blue-eyed  face  under  a  white  hood 
— immediately  lost  in  the  narrow  border  of  heads,  where  there 
was  a  continual  eclipse  of  round  contadina  cheeks  by  the  harsh- 
iined  features  or  bent  shoulders  of  an  old  spadesman,  and  where 
profiles  turned  as  sharply  from  north  to  south  as  weathercocks 
under  a  shifting  wind. 

But  when  it  was  felt  that  the  show  was  ended — when  the 
twelve  prisoners  released  in  honor  of  the  day,  and  the  very  har- 
beri,  or  race-horses,  with  the  arms  of  their  owners  e/nbroider- 
ed  on  their  cloths,  had  followed  up  the  Signoria,  and  been  duly 
consecrated  to  San  Giovanni,  and  every  one  was  movhig  from 
the  window — Nello,  whose  Florentine  curiosity  was  of   that 

*  Spokesman  or  Moderator. 


92  ROMOLA. 

lively  canino  sort  Mliich  thinks  no  trifle  too  despicable  for  iiv 
vestitjation,  put  his  hand  on  Tito's  shoulder,  and  said, 

"  Wliat  acquaintance  was  that  you  were  making  signals  to, 
eh,  giovano  ?" 

"  Some  little  contadina  who  probably  mistook  me  for  an  ac- 
quaintance, for  she  Iiad  honored  me  with  a  greeting." 

"  Or  who  wished  to  begin  an  accpiaintance,"  said  Xello. 
"  liut  vou  are  bound  for  the  \'iade'  liardi  and  the  feast  of  the 
Muses :  there  is  no  counting  on  you  for  a  frolic,  else  we  might 
have  gone  in  search  of  adventures  together  in  the  crowd,  and 
had  some  pleasant  fooling  In  honor  of  San  (Tiovanni.  lint  your 
liigh  fortune  has  come  on  you  too  soon  :  I  don't  mean  the  i)ro- 
fessor's  mantle — that  is  roomy  enough  to  hide  a  few  stolen 
chickens,  but — ]\Iesser  Endymion  minded  his  manners  aftei" 
that  singular  good  fortune  of  his;  and  what  says  our  Luigi 
Pulci  V 

"  'Da  quel  giomo  in  qua  ch'auor  m'accese 
Per  lei  son  fatto  e  gentile  e  cortese.'  " 

"  Xello,  «m/eo  mio,  thou  hast  an  intolerable  trick  of  making 
life  stale  by  forestalling  it  with  thy  talk,'  said  Tito,  shrugging 
his  slioulders,  with  a  look  of  patient  resignation,  which  was 
his  nearest  approach  to  anger;  "not  to  mention  that  such  ill- 
founded  babbliiiLT  would  be  held  a  great  offense  bv  that  same 
goddess  whose  humble  worshipper  you  are  always  professing 
yourself." 

"  I  will  bo  mute,"  said  Nello,  laying  his  finger  on  his  lips, 
with  a  responding  shrug.  "  But  it  is  only  under  our  four  eyes 
that  I  talk  any  folly  about  her." 

"  Pardon  !  you  were  on  the  verge  of  it  just  now  in  the  hear- 
ing of  others.  If  you  want  to  luin  me  in  the  minds  of  Bardo 
and  his  daughter — " 

'*  Enough,  enough  !"  said  Xello.  '*  I  am  an  absurd  old  bar- 
ber. It  all  comes  from  that  abstinence  of  mine  in  not  making 
bad  verses  in  my  youth  :  for  want  of  letting  my  folly  run  out 
that  way  when  I  was  eighteen,  it  runs  out  at  my  tongue's  end 
now  T  am  at  the  unseemly  age  of  forty.  But  Xello  has  not 
got  his  head  muffled  for  all  that;  lie  can  see  a  buffalo  in  the 
snow.     Aclilio  ii'iovane  /" 


EOMOLA.  93 


CHAPTER  IX. 


:man's   ransom, 


Tito  was  soon  down  among  the  crowd,  and,  notwithstand-- 
tng  hi«  indifferent  reply  to  Xello's  question  about  bis  chance 
acquaintance,  he  was  not  without  a  passing  Avish,  as  he  made 
his  way  round  the  piazza  to  the  Corso  degli  Adnuari,  that  he 
might  encounter  the  pair  of  bhie  eyes  which  had  looked  up 
towards  him  from  under  the  square  bit  of  white  linen  drapery 
that  formed  the  ordinary  hood  of  the  contadina  at  festa  time. 
He  Avas  perfectly  well  aware  that  that  face  was  Tessa's  ;  but 
he  had  not  chosen  to  say  so.  What  had  Nello  to  do  with  the 
matter  ?  Tito  had  an  innate  love  of  reticence — let  us  say  a 
talent  for  it — which  acted,  as  other  impulses  do,  without  any 
conscious  motive,  and,  like  all  people  to  whom  concealment  is 
easy,  he  would  now  and  then  conceal  something  which  had  as 
little  the  nature  of  a  secret  as  the  fact  that  he  had  seen  a  flight 
of  crows. 

But  the  passing  wish  about  pretty  Tessa  was  almost  immC' 
diately  eclipsed  by  the  recurrent  recollection  of  that  friar  whose 
face  had  some  irrecoverable  association  for  him.  Wl:y  should 
a  sickly  fanatic,  worn  with  fasting,  have  loc'iod  at  him  in  par- 
ticulai-,  and  where  in  all  his  travel  could  he  remember  encoun- 
tering that  face  before  ?  Follv  I  such  vaojue  memories  hansr 
about  the  mind  like  cobwebs,  with  tickling  importunity — best 
to  sweep  them  away  at  a  dash  :  and  Tito  had  pleasanter  occupa- 
tion for  his  thouo-hts.  Bv  the  time  he  Avas  turninc:  out  of  the 
Corso  degli  Adimari  into  a  side  street  he  was  caring  only  that 
the  sun  was  high,  and  that  the  procession  had  kept  him  longer 
than  he  had  intended  from  his  visit  to  that  room  in  the  Via 
de'  Bardi,  Avhere  his  coming,  he  knew,  was  anxiously  awaited. 
He  felt  the  scene  of  his  entrance  beforehand  :  the  joy  beaming 
diffusedly  in  the  blind  face  like  the  light  in  a  semi-transparent 
lamp ;  the  transient  pink  flush  on  Romola's  face  and  neck, 
vvhich  subtracted  nothing  from  her  majesty,  but  only  gave  it 
the  exquisite  charm  of  womanly  sensitiveness,  heightened  still 
more  by  what  seemed  the  paradoxical,  boy-bke  frankness  of 
her  look  and  smile.  They  were  the  best  comraof  s  in  the  Avorld 
during  the  hours  they  passed  together  round  the  blind  man's 
chair:  she  was  constantly  appealing  to  Tito,  and  he  was  in- 
forming her,  yet  he  felt  himself  strangely  in  subjection  to  Ro- 
mola  with  that  majestic  simplicity  of  hers  :  he  felt  for  the  first 


94  llOMOLJu 

time,  without  dofininrf  it  to  liiniself,  that  loving  awe  in  the 
presence  of  noble  woinaiiliood  which  is,  jhtIkijis,  soniethiiiij 
like  the  worsliij)  paid  of  old  to  a  great  natuii'-goddess,  who 
was  not  all-kiiowing,  but  whose  life  and  power  were  something 
det-'piT  and  more  primordial  than  knowledge.  They  had  never 
been  alone  together,  and  he  could  frame  to  himself  no  prob- 
able image  of  love-scenes  between  them:  he  could  onlv  fancy 
and  wish  wildly — what  he  knew  was  impossible — that  liomoia 
would  some  day  tell  him  that  she  loved  him.  One  day  in 
(xreece,  as  he  was  leaning  over  a  wall  in  the  sunshine,  a  littlo 
black-eyed  })easant  girl,  who  l»ad  reste<l  her  water-pot  on  the 
wall,  crept  gradually  nearer  and  nearer  to  him,  and  at  last  shyly 
asked  him  to  kiss  her,  puttmg  up  her  round  olive  cheek  very 
innocentlv.  Tito  was  used  to  love  that  came  in  this  unsought 
fashion.  But  Komola's  love  wouhl  never  come  in  that  way — 
would  it  ever  come  at  all?  and  yet  it  was  that  topmost  apple 
on  which  he  had  set  his  mmd.  lie  was  in  his  fresh  youth — not 
passionate,  but  impressible  ;  it  was  as  inevitable  that  he  should 
feel  lovingly  towards  Komola  as  that  the  white  irises  should  be 
iX'flected  in  the  clear  sunlit  stream  ;  but  he  had  no  coxcoml)ry, 
and  he  had  an  intimate  sense  that  liomola  was  something  very 
much  above  him.  Many  men  liave  felt  the  same  before  a  large- 
eyed,  simjde  child. 

Nevertheless  Tito  had  had  the  rapid  success  which  would 
have  made  some  men  ])resuming,  or  would  have  warranted 
him  in  thinking  that  there  would  be  no  great  ])resumption  in 
entertaining  an  agreeable  conlidence  that  he  might  one  day  be 
the  husband  of  liomola — nay,  that  her  father  himself  was  not 
without  a  vision  of  such  a  future  for  him.  His  first  auspicious 
interview  with  liartolommeo  Scala  had  ])roved  the  commence- 
ment of  a  growing  favor  on  the  Secretary's  part,  and  had  led 
to  an  issue  which  would  have  been  enough  to  make  Tito  de- 
cide on  Florence  as  the  place  in  which  to  establish  himself, 
even  if  it  hail  held  no  other  magnet.  I'olitian  was  )>rofessor  of 
(iieek  as  well  as  J^atin  at  Florence,  professorial  chairs  being 
maintained  there,  although  the  university  had  been  removed 
to  Pisa  ;  but  for  a  long  time  Demetrio  Calcondila,  one  of  the 
most  eminent  and  respectable  among  the  emigrant  Greeks^ 
had  also  held  a  (ireek  chair,  simultaneously  with  the  too  pre- 
dominant Italian.  Calcondila  was  now  gone  to  Milan,  and 
there  was  no  counterjtoise  or  rival  to  Politian  such  as  was  de- 
sired for  him  by  the  friends  who  wislie<l  him  to  be  taught  a 
littlo  propriety  and  humility.  Scala  was  far  from  being  the 
only  friend  of  this  class,  and  he  found  several  who,  if  they 
w^ere  not  among  those  thirsty  admirers  of  mediocrity  that  were 
glad  to  be  refrojshetl  with  his  versus  in  hot  weather,  were  yut 


ROMOLA.  95 

quite  willing  to  join  him  in  doing  that  moral  sei'vice  to  Politian. 
It  was  finally  agreed  that  Tito  should  be  supported  in  a  Greek 
chair,  as  Demetrio  Calcondila  had  been  by  Lorenzo  himself, 
who,  being  at  the  same  time  the  affectionate  patron  of  Poli- 
tian, had  shown  by  precedent  that  there  was  nothing  invidious 
in  such  a  measure  but  only  a  zeal  for  true  learning  and  the  in- 
struction of  the  Florentine  youth. 

Tito  was  thus  sailing  under  the  fairest  breeze,  and  besides 
convincing  fair  judges  that  his  talents  squared  with  his  good 
fortune,  he  Avore  that  fortune  so  easily  and  unpretentiously 
that  no  one  had  yet  been  offended  by  it.  He  was  not  unlikely 
to  get  into  the  best  Florentine  society  :  society  where  there 
was  much  more  plate  than  the  circle  of  enamelled  silver  in  the 
centre  of  the  brass  dishes,  and  where  it  was  not  forbidden  by 
the  Signory  to  wear  the  richest  brocade.  For  where  could  a 
handsome  young  scholar  not  be  welcome  Avhen  he  could  touch 
the  lute  and  troll  a  gay  song  ?  That  bright  face,  that  easy 
smile,  that  liquid  voice,  seemed  to  give  life  a  holiday  aspect ; 
just  as  a  strain  of  gay  music  and  the  hoisting  of  colors  make  the 
work-worn  and  the  sad  rather  ashamed  of  sliowing  themselves. 
Here  was  a  professor  likely  to  render  the  Greek  classics  amia- 
ble to  the  sons  of  great  houses. 

And  that  was  not  tlie  whole  of  Tito's  good  fortune  ;  for  he 
had  sold  all  his  jewels,  except  the  ring  he  did  not  choose  to 
part  with,  and  he  aa  as  master  of  full  five  hundred  gold  florins. 

Yet  the  moment  when  he  first  had  this  sum  in  his  posses- 
sion was  the  crisis  of  the  first  serious  struggle  his  facile,  good- 
humored  nature  had  known.  An  importunate  thought,  of 
which  he  had  till  now  refused  to  see  more  than  the  shadow  as 
it  dogged  his  footsteps,  at  last  rushed  upon  him  and  grasped 
him :  he  was  obliged  to  pause  and  decide  whether  he  would 
surrender  and  obey,  or  whether  he  would  give  the  refusal  that 
must  carry  irrevocable  consequences.  It  was  in  the  roonx 
above  Xello's  shop,  which  Tito  had  now  hired  as  a  lodging, 
that  the  elder  Cennini  handed  him  the  last  quota  of  the  sum 
on  behalf  of  Bernardo  Rucellai,  the  purchaser  of  the  Cleo- 
patra. 

'■^Ecco,  giovane  mio  .^"  said  the  respectable  printer  and 
goldsmith,  "  you  have  now  a  pretty  little  fortune ;  and  if  you 
will  take  ray  advice,  you  will  let  me  place  your  florins  in  a 
safe  quarter,  where  they  may  increase  and  multiply,  instead  of 
slipping  through  your  fingers  for  banquets  and  other  follies 
which  are  rife  among  our  Florentine  youth.  And  it  has  been 
too  much  the  fashion  of  scholars,  especially  when,  like  our 
Pietro  Crinito,  they  think  their  scholarship  needs  to  be  scent- 
ed and  broidered,  to  squander  with  one  hand  till  they  have 


90  ROM  OLA. 

been  fain  to  bctr  with  tlic  other.  I  have  hroutrlit  vou  the 
money,  and  you  are  lice  to  make  a  \\  ise  choice  or  an  unwise: 
I  shall  see  on  wliich  side  the  balance  dips.  "We  Florentines 
liold  no  man  a  member  of  an  Art  till  he  lias  shown  his  skill 
and  been  matriculated  ;  and  no  man  is  matriculated  to  the  art 
of  life  till  he  has  been  well  tempted.  If  you  make  up  your 
mind  to  put  your  florin.s  out  to  usury,  you  can  let  me  know  to- 
morrow. A  scholar  may  marry,  and  should  haye  sornethinji 
in  readiness  for  the  )nor(jt )i-c<ip*     Addio." 

As  Cennini  closed  the  door  behind  him  Tito  turned  round 
witli  the  smile  dyiiiL;'  out  of  his  face,  and  fixed  his  eyes  on  tho 
table  where  the  tiorins  lay,  lie  made  no  other  movement, 
but  stood  with  his  thumbs  in  his  belt,  looking  down,  in  that 
transfixed  state  which  accompanies  the  concentration  of  con- 
sciousness on  some  inward  image. 

"A  man's  ransom!'' — who  was  it  tliat  had  said  five  hun- 
dred Hoiins  was  more  than  a  man's  ransom?  If  now,  under 
this  mid-day  sun,  on  some  hot  coast  far  away,  a  man  some- 
what stricken  in  years — a  man  not  Avithout  high  thoughts 
and  with  the  most  ))assionate  lieart — a  man  who  long  years 
ago  had  rescued  a  little  boy  from  a  life  of  beggary,  filth,  and 
cruel  Avrong,  had  reared  liim  tenderly,  and  been  to  him  as  a 
father — if  that  man  Avere  now  under  this  summer  sun  toiling 
as  a  slave,  hewing  Avood  and  drawing  Avater,  pcrha|)S  being 
smitten  and  buffeted  because  lie  was  not  deft  and  active  ?  If 
he  were  saying  to  himself,  "  Tito  Avill  find  me;  he  had  but  to 
carry  our  manus(;ripts  and  gems  to  Venice ;  he  will  have  raised 
money,  and  Avill  never  rest  till  he  finds  nie  out?"  If  that 
Avere  certain,  could  he,  Tito,  see  the  ])rice  of  the  gems  lying 
before  him,  and  say,  "  I  will  stay  at  Florence,  Avhere  I  am  fan- 
ncil  by  soft  airs  ot  piomised  love  and  prosjierity :  I  will  not 
risk  myself  for  his  sake?"  No,  surely  not,  if  it  tcere  cerUiin. 
Jiiit  nothing  couM  bo  farther  from  certainty.  The  galley  had 
been  taken  by  a  Turkish  vessel  on  its  way  to  De'.os :  that  was 
known  by  the  rej)ort  of  the  companion  galley,  Avhi(;h  had  es- 
caped. But  there  had  been  resistance,  and  probable  blood- 
shed ;  a  man  had  been  seen  falling  overboard  :  wIkj  were  the 
Hurvivors,  and  what  had  befallen  them  among  all  the  multi- 
tude of  possibilities?  Had  not  he,  Tito,  suffered  shipwreck, 
and  narrowly  esca|)ed  drowning?  He  had  good  cause  for 
feeling  the  omnipresence  of  casualties  that  threatened  all  proj- 
ects Avith  futility.  The  rumor  that  there  Avere  jtirates  Avho 
had  a  settlement  in  Delos  Avas  not  to  be  depended  on,  or 
might  be  nothiiiu'  t.)  the  ]nirposc.     What,  ])robably  enough, 

*  A  sum  tincn  1)}-  the  bi idej^iuoin  to  the  briJo  tlic  il;iy  after  the  marriaffq 
CMor'/fnyabt). 


EOMOLA, 


97 


would  be  the  result  if  he  were  to  quit  Florence  and  go  to  Ven- 
ice; get  authoritative  letters  —  yes,  he  knew  that  might  be 
done — and  set  out  for  the  Archipelago  ?  Why,  that  he  should 
be  himself  seized,  and  spend  all  his  florins  on  preliminaries, 
and  be  again  a  destitute  wanderer — with  no  more  gems  to 

sell. 

Tito  had  a  clearer  vision  of  that  result  than  of  the  possible 
moment  when  he  might  find  his  father  again,  and  carry  him 
deliverance.  It  would  surely  be  an  unfairness  that  he,  in  his 
full  ripe  youth,  to  whom  life  had  hitherto  had  some  of  the 
stint  and  subjection  of  a  school,  should  turn  his  back  on 
promised  love  and  distinction,  and  perhaps  never  be  visited 
by  that  promise  again.  "  And  yet,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  if  I 
were  certain — yes,  if  I  Avere  certain  that  Baldassarre  Calvo 
w\as  alive,  and  that  I  could  free  him,  by  whatever  exertions  or 
perils,  I  would  go  now— now  I  have  the  money :  it  was  useless 
to  debate  the  matter  before.  I  would  go  now  to  Bardo  and 
Bartolommeo  Scala  and  tell  them  the  whole  truth."  Tito  did 
not  say  to  himself  so  distinctly  that  if  those  two  men  had 
known  the  whole  truth  he  was  aware  there  would  have  been 
no  alternative  for  hun  but  to  go  in  search  of  his  benefactor, 
who,  if  alive,  was  the  rightful  owner  of  the  gems,  and  whom 
he  had  always  equivocally  spoken  of  as  "lost;"  he  did  not 
say  to  himself,  what  he  was  not  ignorant  of,  that  Greeks  of 
distinction  had  made  sacrifices,  taken  voyages  again  and 
again,  and  sought  help  from  crowned  and  mitred  heads  for 
the  sake  of  freeing  relatives  from  slavery  to  the  Turks.  Pub- 
lic opinion  did  not  regard  that  as  an  exceptional  virtue. 

This  was  his  first  real  colloquy  with  himself:  he  had  gone 
on  following  the  impulses  of  the  moment,  and  one  of  those 
impulses  had  been  to  conceal  half  the  fact:  he  had  never  con- 
sidered this  part  of  his  conduct  long  enough  to  face  the  con- 
sciousness of  his  motives  for  the  concealment.  What  was 
the  use  of  telling  the  whole  ?  It  was  true,  the  thought  had 
crossed  his  mind  several  times  since  he  had  quitted  Nauplia 
that,  after  all,  it  was  a  great  relief  to  be  quit  of  Baldassarre, 
and  he  would  have  liked  to  know  tcho  it  was  that  had  fallen 
ovei-boai'd.  But  such  thoughts  spring  inevitably  out  of  a  re- 
lation that  is  irksome.  Baldassarre  was  exacting,  and  had 
got  stranger  as  he  got  older :  he  was  constantly  scrutinizing 
Tito's  mind  to  see  whether  it  answered  to  his  own  exaggera- 
ted expectations ;  and  age — the  age  of  a  thick-set,  heavy- 
browed,  bald  man  beyond  sixty,  whose  intensity  and  eager- 
ness in  the  grasp  of  ideas  have  long  taken  the  character  of 
monotony  and  repetition,  may  be  looked  at  from  many  points 
of  view  without  being  found  attractive.     Such  a  man,  strandr 


08  UOMOI.A. 


ed  auionif  ivcw  acquaintances,  unless  he  had  the  j)liiI()so}iher''8 
8tone,  wtuiUl  liardly  iind  rank,  youtli,  and  beauty  at  his  feet. 
The  feeHiitxs  tliat  gather  fervor  from  novelty  will  be  of  little 
liel))  towards  making  the  world  a  home  for  dimmed  ;uid  faded 
human  beings ;  and  if  there  is  any  love  of  \\hich  they  are  not 
vv'idowed,  it  must  be  the  love  (liat  is  rooted  in  memories  and 
distills  peri)etually  the  sweet  bahns  of  lidelity  and  forbearing 
tenderness. 

'  But  surely  such  memories  were  not  absent  fi-om  Tito's 
mind  ?  Far  in  the  backward  vista  of  his  remend)ered  life, 
when  he  was  only  seven  years  old,  Baldassarre  liad  rescued 
him  from  blows,  had  taken  him  to  a  home  that  seemed  like 
opened  jiaradisu,  where  there  was  sweet  food  and  soofliing  ca- 
resses, all  had  on  Baldassarre's  knee;  and  from  (hat  timi-  till 
the  hour  they  had  parted  Tito  had  been  the  one  centre  of  Bal- 
dassarre's  fatherly  cares. 

Well,  he  had  been  docile,  ])liable,  quick  of  apjirehension, 
ready  to  acquire  :  a  very  bright,  lovely  boy  ;  a  youtli  of  even 
si)lendid  grace,  who  seemed  quite  Avithout  vices,  as  if  that 
beautiful  form  represcTited  a  vitality  so  exquisitely  poised  and 
balanced  that  it  could  know  no  uneasy  desires,  no  unrest — u 
radiant  presence  for  a  lonely  man  to  have  won  for  himself.  If 
he  were  silent  wTien  his  father  expected  some  response,  still 
lie  did  not  look  moody;  if  he  declined  some  labor — why,  he 
flung  himself  down  with  such  a  charming,  half-smiling,  half- 
])leading  air,  that  the  pleasure  of  looking  at  him  made  amends 
to  one  who  Iiad  watched  his  growth  with  a  sense  of  claim  and 
])Ossession  :  the  curves  of  Tito's  mouth  liad  ineffable  good- 
humor  in  them.  And  then  the  quick  talent,  to  which  every- 
thing came  readily,  from  philosophic  systems  to  llie  rhymes  of 
a  stn-et  ballad  caught  up  at  a  hearing!  "Would  anyone  have 
said  that  Tito  had  not  made  due  return  to  his  l)enefactor,  or 
that  his  gratitude  and  alfection  would  fail  on  any  great  de- 
mand ?  lie  did  not  admit  that  his  gratitude  had  failed  ;  but 
U  ir((s  not  certain  that  Baldassarre  was  in  slavery,  not  certain 
that  he  was  living. 

"  Do  I  not  owe  something  to  myself  ?"  said  Tito,  inwardly, 
with  a  slight  movement  of  his  shoulders,  the  first  lie  had  mad(; 
since  he  liad  turned  t<»  look  down  at  the  (h>riiis.  "  Before  I 
quit  every  thing,  aii<l  iiicui-  again  all  the  risks  of  which  I  am 
even  now  weary,  T  must  at  least  have  a  reasonable  hope.  Am 
I  to  spend  my  life  in  a  wandering  search?  I  IxtUre  he  h 
dead.  Cenniiu  was  right  about  my  florins:  I  will  i)lacc  them 
in  his  hands  to-morrow." 

When,  (he  next  niorning/l'ito  put  this  determination  ititn 
act  he  hatl  chosen  his  color  in  the  game,  and  had  given  an  in 


EOMOLA.  09 

evitable  bent  to  liis  wishes.  He  had  made  it  impossible  that 
he  should  not  from  henceforth  desire  it  to  be  the  truth  that 
his  father  was  dead ;  impossible  that  he  should  not  be  tempted 
to  baseness  rather  than  that  the  precise  facts  of  his  con'duct 
should  not  remain  forever  concealed. 

Under  every  guilty  secret  there  is  hidden  a  brood  of  guilty 
-wishes,  whose  unwholesome  infecting  life  is  cherished  by  tho 
darkness.  The  contaminating  effect  of  deeds  often  hes  less  in 
the  commission  than  in  the  consequent  adjustment  of  our  de- 
sires— the  enlistment  of  our  self-interest  on  the  side  of  falsity ; 
as,  on  the  other  hand,  the  purifying  influence  of  pubhc  confes- 
sion springs  from  the  fact  that  by  it  the  hope  in  lies  is  forever 
swept  away,  and  the  soul  recovers  the  noble  attitude  of  sim- 
plicity. 

Besides,  in  this  first  distinct  colloquy  with  himself  the  ideas 
which  had  previously  been  scattered  and  interrupted  had  now 
concentrated  themselves :  the  little  rills  of  selfishness  had 
united  and  made  a  channel,  so  that  they  could  never  again 
meet  with  the  same  resistance.  Hitherto  Tito  had  left  in 
vague  indecision  tlie  question  whether,  with  the  means  in  his 
power,  he  would  not  return,  and  ascertain  his  father's  fate;  he 
had  now  made  a  definite  excuse  to  himself  for  not  taking  that 
course ;  he  had  avowed  to  himself  a  choice  which  he  would 
have  been  ashamed  to  avow  to  others,  and  which  would  have 
made  him  ashamed  in  the  resurgent  presence  of  his  father. 
But  the  inward  shame,  the  reflex  of  that  outward  law  whicli 
the  great  heart  of  mankind  makes  for  every  individual  man,  a 
reflex  \vhich  will  exist  even  in  the  absence  of  the  sympathetic 
impulses  that  need  no  law,  but  rush  to  the  deed  of  fidelity  and 
pity  as  inevitably  as  the  brute  mother  shields  her  young  from 
the  attack  of  the  hereditary  enemy — tliat  inward  shame  was 
showing;  its  blushes  in  Tito's  determined  assertion  to  himself 
that  his  father  was  dead,  or  that  at  least  search  was  hopeless. 


CHAPTER  X. 

UXDER   THE    PLAXE-TREE. 


Ox  the  day  of  San  Giovanni  it  w\as  already  three  weeks  ago 
that  Tito  had  handed  his  fiorins  to  Cennini,  and  we  have  seen 
that  as  he  set  out  towards:  the  Via  de'  Bardi  he  showed  all  the 
outward  signs  of  a  mind  at  ease.  How  should  it  be  other- 
wise ?  He  never  jarred  with  Avhat  Avas  immediately  around 
him,  and  his  nature  Avas  too  joyous,  too  unapprehensive,  for 
the  hidden  and  the  distant  to  grasp  him  in  the  shape  of  a 


100  ICOMOLA. 

dread.  As  ho  turned  out  of  the  hot  sunsliine  into  the  slieltei 
of  a  narrow  street,  took  off  the  bhu-k  elotli  fnmttd,  or  sirn]>la 
cap  A\  itli  npturnud  lappet,  which  just  crowned  his  brown  curls, 
j)ushin<,f  his  liair  and  tossing  his  head  backward  to  court  the 
cooler  air,  there  was  no  brand  of  duplicity  on  his  brow,  neither 
was  there  any  stamp  of  candor  :  it  was  simply  a  finely  foiined. 
square,  smooth  young  brow  ;  and  the  slow  absent  glance  ho 
cast  round  at  the  upper  windows  of  the  houses  liad  neither 
more  dissimulation  in  it,  nor  more  ingeiuiousness,  than  belongs 
to  a  youthful  well-opened  eyelid  with  its  unwearied  Ijrcadtli 
of  gaze;  to  ])erfectly  pellucid  lenses;  to  the  undimmed  dark 
of  a  rich  brown  iris ;  and  to  a  pure  cerulean-tinted  angle  of 
whiteness  streake<l  with  the  delicate  shadows  of  long  evelash- 
cs.  Was  it  that  Tito's  face  attracted  or  repelled  according  to 
the  mental  altitude  of  the  observer?  Was  it  a  cipher  with 
more  than  one  key  ?  Tlie  strong,  unmistakable  expression  in 
his  whole  air  and  person  Avas  a  negative  one,  and  it  was  per- 
fectlv  veracious  ;  it  declared  the  absence  of  anv  uneasv  claim, 
any  restless  vanity,  and  it  made  the  admiration  that  followed 
him  as  lie  passed  among  the  troop  of  holiday-makers  a  thor- 
oughly willing  tribute. 

For  by  this  time  the  stir  of  the  Festa  was  felt  even  in  the 
narrowest  side  streets  ;  the  tlirong  which  had  at  one  time  been 
concentrated  in  the  lines  through  which  the  procession  had  to 
pass  was  now  streaming  out  in  all  directions  in  pursuit  of  a 
new  object.  Such  intervals  of  a  Festa  are  precisely  the  mo- 
ments when  the  vaguely  active  animal  sj)irits  of  a  crowd  are 
likely  to  be  the  most  ])etulaiit  and  most  ready  to  sacrifice  a 
stray  individual  to  the  greater  happiness  of  the  greater  num- 
ber. As  Tito  entered  the  neighborhood  of  San  ^Mariino,  he 
found  the  throng  rather  denser ;  and  near  the  hostelry  of  the 
JJcrtticce,  or  JJaboons,  there  was  evidently  some  object  which 
was  arresting  the  passengers  and  forming  them  into  a  knot. 
It  needed  nothing  of  great  interest  to  draw  aside  passengers  un- 
f  reighted  witli  a  purpose,  and  Tito  was  preparing  to  turn  aside 
into  an  adjoining  street,  when,  amidst  the  loud  laughter,  his 
ear  <liscerned  a  distressed  childish  voice  crying,  "Loose  me  I 
Holy  Virgin,  help  me  !"  which  at  once  determined  him  to 
push  his  way  into  the  knot  of  gazers.  ]Ie  had  just  ha<l  time 
to  perceive  that  the  distressed  voice  came  from  a  young  con- 
tadina,  whose  white  hood  had  fallen  off  in  the  struggle  to  get 
her  hands  free  from  the  grasp  of  a  man  in  the  jiarti-colored 
dress  of  a  cerrctano,  or  conjuror,  who  was  making  laughing  at- 
tempts to  soothe  and  cajole  her,  evidently  carrying  with  him 
the  amused  sympalliy  of  the  s]ieetators,  who  by  a  ))eisuasivo 
variety  of  words,  signifying  simpleton,  for  which  th«  Floreu* 


KOMOLA.  101 

tine  dialect  is  rich  in  equivalents,  seemed  to  be  arguing  with 
the  contadina  against  her  obstinacy.  At  the  first  moment  the 
girl's  face  was  turned  away,  and  he  saw  only  her  light-browD 
hair  plaited  and  fastened  with  a  long  silver  pin  ;  but  in  tho 
Qext,  the  struggle  brought  her  face  opposite  to  Tito's,  and  he 
saw  the  baby  features  of  Tessa,  her  blue  eyes  filled  with  tears, 
and  her  under-Hp  quivering.  Tessa,  too,  saw  him,  and  through 
.he  mist  of  her  swelling  tears  there  beamed  a  sudden  hope, 
Uke  that  in  the  face  of  a  little  child,  when,  held  by  a  stranger 
against  its  will,  it  sees  a  familiar  hand  stretched  out. 

In  an  instant  Tito  had  pushed  his  way  through  the  barrier 
of  by-standers,  whose  curiosity  made  them  ready  to  turn  aside 
at  the  sudden  interference  of  this  handsome  young  signor,  had 
grasped  Tessa's  waist,  and  had  said,  "  Loose  this  maiden  ! 
What  right  have  you  to  hold  her  against  her  Avill  ?" 

The  conjuror — a  man  with  one  of  those  faces  in  which  the 
angles  of  the  eyes  and  eyebrows,  of  the  nostrils,  mouth,  and 
sharply-defined  jaw,  all  tend  upward — showed  his  small  regu- 
lar teeth  in  an  impish  but  not  ill-natured  grin,  as  he  let  go 
Tessa's  hands,  and  stretched  out  his  own  backward,  shrugging 
his  shoulders,  and  bendhig  them  forward  a  little  in  a  half- 
apologetic  half-protesting  manner. 

"  I  meant  the  rarjazza  no  evil  in  the  world,  Messere :  ask 
this  respectable  company.  I  was  only  going  to  show  them  a 
few  samples  of  my  skill,  in  which  this  little  damsel  might  have 
helped  me  the  better  because  of  her  kitten  face,  -which  would 
hav.e  assured  them  of  open  dealing ;  and  I  had  promised  her  a 
lapful  of  confetti  as  a  reward.  But  v,  hat  then  ?  Messer  has 
doubtless  better  confetti  at  hand,  and  she  knows  it." 

A  general  laugh  among  the  by-standers  accompanied  these 
last  Avords  of  the  conjuror,  raised,  probably,  by  the  look  of  re- 
lief and  confidence  v»ith  which  Tessa  clung  to  Tito's  arm,  as 
he  drew  it  from  her  waist  and  placed  her  hand  within  it.  She 
only  cared  about  the  laugh  as  she  might  have  cared  about  the 
roar  of  wild  beasts  from  which  she  was  escaping,  not  attaching 
any  meaning  to  it ;  but  Tito,  who  had  no  sooner  got  her  on  his 
arm  than  he  foresaw  some  embarrassment  in  the  situation, 
hastened  to  get  clear  of  observers,  who,  having  been  despoiled 
of  an  expected  amusement,  were  sure  to  re-establish  the  balance 
by  jests. 

"  See,  see,  little  one !  here  is  your  hood,"  said  the  conjuror, 
throwing  the  bit  of  white  drapery  over  Tessa  s  head.  "  Orsii^ 
bear  me  no  maiice ;  come  back  to  me  when  Messere  can  spare 
you." 

"Ah  !  Maestro  Vaiano,  she'll  come  back  presently,  as  tho 
toad  said  to  the  harrow,"  called  out  one  of  the  spectators,  seOi 


102  BOMOLA. 

iiitj  how  Tessa  started  and  Glirank  at  tlio  action  of  tlie  con- 
juror. 

Titt)  jiusliod  his  v,ny  virjorously  towards  the  corner  of  a  side 
strei't,  a  link'  vexed  at  this  dehiy  in  liis  jjvogress  to  the  \\:i 
de'  Bardi,  and  intending  to  get  rid  of  the  poor  little  contadina 
as  soon  as  possiltU-.  TIk;  next  street,  too,  had  its  i)assen<xers 
inclined  to  make  holiday  remarks  at  so  imusual  a  pair;  but 
they  had  no  sooner  entered  it  than  he  said,  in  a  kind  but  hur- 
ried manner,  "Now,  little  one,  where  were  you  going?  Are 
you  come  by  yourself  to  the  Festa  ?" 

"Ah  no  I"  said  Tessa,  looking  frightened  and  distressed 
again  ;  "  I  have  lost  my  n\other  in  the  crowd — her  and  my  fa- 
ther-indaw.  They  will  be  angry — lie  will  beat  me.  It  was  in 
the  crowd  in  San  Pulinari — somebody  pushed  me  along  and  I 
couldn't  stop  myself,  so  I  got  away  from  them.  Oh,  I  don't 
know  where  they're  gone  !     Please,  don't  leave  nie  !" 

Her  eyes  had  been  swelling  with  tears  again,  and  she  ended 
with  a  sob. 

Tito  hurried  along  again  :  the  Church  of  the  Badia  was  not 
far  off.  They  could  enter  it  by  the  cloister  that  opened  at  the 
back,  and  in  the  church  he  coidd  talk  to  Tessa — ])erhaps  leave 
her.  No  !  it  was  an  hour  at  which  the  church  was  not  open ; 
l)ut  they  paused  under  the  shelter  of  the  cloister,  and  he  said, 
"Have  you  no  cousin  ov  friend  in  Florence,  my  little  Tessa, 
whose  house  you  could  find;  or  are  you  afraid  of  walking  by 
yourself  since  you  liavc  been  frightened  by  the  conjuror?  I 
am  in  a  hurry  to  get  to  Oltrarno,  but  if  I  could  take  you  any 
where  near — " 

"Oh,  I  rn/i  frightened  :  he  was  the  devil — T  know  he  was. 
And  I  don't  know  where  to  go — I  have  nobody ;  and  my 
mother  meant  to  have  her  dimicr  somewhere,  and  I  don't  know 
where.     Holy  Madonna  !   1  shall  be  beaten." 

The  corners  of  the  pouting  mouth  went  down  piteonsly, 
and  the  poor  little  bosom  with  the  beads  on  it  above  the  green 
serge  gamurra  heaved  so  that  there  Avas  no  longer  any  help 
for  it :  a  loud  sob  mv/fd  come,  and  the  big  tears  fell  as  if  lliey 
were  making  up  for  lost  time.  Here  Avas  a  situation!  It 
would  have  Ix'cn  brutal  to  leave  her,  and  Tito's  nature  was  all 
gentleness.  He  wished  at  that  moment  that  he  ha<l  not  been 
expected  in  the  \'ia  de'  Bardi.  As  he  saw  her  lifting  up  her 
holiday  apron  to  catch  the  hurrying  tears,  he  lai<l  his  hand, 
too,  on  the  a])ron,  and  ndibed  one  of  tin,'  cheeks  and  kissed  the 
baby-like  roundness. 

"My  poor  little  Tessa  I  leave  off  crying.  Let  us  sec 
what  can  be  done.  "Whci'c  is  your  home — where  do  you 
live  ?" 


'  ROMOLA-  lOS 

There  was  no  answer,  but  the  sobs  began  to  subside  a  little 
and  the  drops  to  full  less  quickly. 

"  Come !  I'll  take  you  a  little  way  if  you'll  tell  me  where 
you  want  to  go." 

The  apron  fell,  and  Tessa's  face  began  to  look  as  contented 
as  a  cherub's  budding  from  a,  cloud.  The  diabolical  conjuror, 
the  anger,  and  the  beating  seemed  a  long  way  off. 

*<  I  think  I'll  go  homo  if  you'll  take  me,"  she  said,  iu  a  halt 
whisper,  looking  up  at  Tito  with  wide  blue  eyes,  and  with 
something  sweeter  than  a  smile — with  a  childlike  calm. 

*'  Come,  then,  little  one,"  said  Tito,  in  a  caressing  tone,  put- 
ting her  arm  within  his  again.     "  Which  way  is  if?" 

''  Beyond  Peretola — where  the  large  pear-tree  is." 

"  Peretola  ?  Out  at  which  gate,^;a22are^^a  ^  I  am  a  stran- 
ger, you  must  remember." 

"Out  at  the  For  del  Prato,"  said  Tessa,  moving  along  with 
a  very  fast  hold  on  Tito^s  arm. 

H'C  did  not  know  all  the  turnings  well  enough  to  venture 
on  an  attempt  at  choosing  th^  quietest  streets  ;  and  besides 
it  occurred  to  him  that  where  the  passengers  were  most  numer- 
ous there  was,  perhaps,  the  most  chance  of  meeting  with  Monna 
Ghita  and  find ing  an  end  to  iiis  knight-errantship.  So  he  made 
straight  for  Porta  Rossa,  and  on  to  Ognissanti,  showing  his 
usual  bright,  propitiatory  face  to  the  mixed  observers  who 
threw  their  jests  at  him  and  his  little  heavy-shod  maiden  Avith 
much  liberality.  Mingled  with  the  more  decent  holiday-makers 
there  were  frolicsome  apprentices,  rather  envious  of  his  good- 
fortune  ;  bold-eyed  women  with  the  badge  of  the  yellow  veil ; 
beggars  who  thrust  forward  their  caps  for  alms,  in  derision  at 
Tito's  evident  haste  ;  dicers,  sharpers,  and  loungers  of  the  worst 
sort ;  boys  whose  tongues  were  used  to  wag  in  concert  at  the 
most  brutal  street  games  :  for  the  streets  of  Florence  were  not 
always  a  moral  spectacle  in  those  times,  and  Tessa's  terror  at 
being  lost  in  the  crowd  was  not  wholly  unreasonable. 

When  they  reached  the  Piazza  d'Ognissanti  Tito  slackened 
his  pace  :  they  were  both  heated  with  their  hurried  walk,  and 
here  was  a  wider  space  where  they  could  take  breath.  They 
sat  down  on  one  of  the  stone  /:)a?icAe  or  benches  which  were 
frequent  against  the  Avails  of  old  Florentine  houses. 

"  Verglne  santisshna  .^"  said  Tessa ;  "  I  am  glad  Ave  have  got 
away  from  those  AVOTuen  and  boys  ;  but  I  Avas  not  frightened, 
because  you  could  take  care  of  me." 

"  Pretty  little  Tessa  !"  said  Tito,  smiling  at  lier,  "  What 
makes  you  feel  so  safe  Avith  me  ?" 

"  Because  you  are  so  beautiful — like  the  people  going  into 
Paradise — they  are  all  good."  '         "  / 


104  KoMOl.A,  . 

"  It  is  .1  long  uliile  since  you  had  your  breakfast, Tessa," 
said  Tito,  seoiiiLT  some  stalls  near  with  fruit  and  sweetmeats 
u]iuii  tht-m.     '*  Are  you  luingry  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  am — if  you  will  have  some  too." 

Tito  bought  some  apricots,  and  cakes,  and  comfits,  and  put 
them  into  l)er  ai)ron. 

"Come,"  lie  said,  "let  us  walk  on  to  the  Prato,  .-uid  then 
perhaps  you  will  not  be  afraid  to  go  the  rest  of  the  way 
aione. 

"  But  you  will  have  some  of  the  apricots  and  things,"  said 
Tessa,  rising  obediently  and  gathering  up  her  apron  as  a  bag 
for  her  store.  ' 

"We  will  see,"  sail!  Tito,  aloud;  and  to  himself  he  said, 
"Here  is  a  little  contadina  who  might  ins])ire  a  better  idyl  thi-.n 
Lorenzo  de'  Medici's  Xencia  d(t  liarberino,  that  Nello\s  friends 
rave  about;  if  I  were  only  a  Theocritus,  or  had  time  to  cnlti- 
vate  the  necessary  ex|)erience  by  unseasonable  walks  of  this 
eort !  However,  the  mischief  is  done  now  :  I  am  so  l:;te  already 
that  another  half  hour  will  make  no  diffeience.  I'retty  littlo 
pigeon  !" 

"  We  have  a  garden  and  plenty  of  pears," said  Tessa,"  an(^ 
two  cows,  besides  the  mules  ;  and  I'm  very  fond  of  them.  But 
the  p((iri(jno  is  a  cross  man  :  I  wish  my  mother  had  not  mar- 
ried him.     I  think  he  is  wicked ;  he  is  very  ugly." 

"  And  does  your  mother  let  him  beat  yon, pofcrhia?  You 
said  you  were  afraid  of  being  beaten." 

"  Ah,  my  mother  herself  scolds  me  :  she  loves  mv  voun<' 
sister  better,  and  thinks  I  don't  do  work  enough.  Nobody 
speaks  kindly  to  me,  only  the  Pievano  (parish  priest)  when  I 
go  to  confession.  And  the  men  in  the  JMercato  laugh  at  mo 
and  make  fun  of  me.  Nobody  ever  kissed  nu'  and  spoke  to 
me  as  you  do  ;  just  as  I  talk  to  my  little  black-faccil  kill,  bo- 
cause  I'm  very  fond  of  it." 

It  seemed  not  to  hav(!  entered  Tessa's  mind  tliat  there  Avas 
any  change  in  Tito's  appearance  since  the  morning  he  begged 
the  milk  from  her,  and  that  he  looked  now  like  a  ])ersonage  for 
whom  she  must  summon  her  little  stock  of  reverent  words  and 
signs.  He  had  impressed  her  too  differently  from  any  human 
being  who  had  ever  come  near  her  before  for  lier  to  make  any 
comparison  of  details  :  she  took  no  note  of  his  dress  ;  he  was 
gimply  a  voice  and  a  face  to  her,  sometliing  come  frf)m  l*aradiso 
into  a  world  where  nujst  things  seemed  hard  and  angry  ;  and 
she  prattled  with  as  little  restraint  as  if  he  had  been  an  imag- 
inary companion  born  of  her  own  lovingness  and  the  sunshine. 

They  had  lujw  ri'aclied  the  Pntfo,  which  at  that  time  was  a 
large  open  s])ace  within  the  walls,  where  the  Florentine  youth 


KOMOLA.  •  105 

played  at  their  favorite  Calcio — a  peculiar  kind  of  foot-ball-- 
and  otherwise  exercised  themselves.  At  this  mid-day  time  it 
was  forsaken  and  quiet  to  the  very  gates,  where  a  tent  had  been 
erected  in  preparation  for  the  race.  On  the  border  of  this 
wide  meadow  Tito  paused  and  said, 

"  Now,  Tessa,  you  will  not  be  frightened  if  I  leave  you  to 
■walk  the  rest  of  the  way  by  yourself.  Addio.  Shall  I  come 
and  buy  a  cup  of  milk"^  from  you  in  the  Mercato  to-morrow 
morning,  to  see  that  /ou  are  quite  safe  ?" 

He  added  this  question  in  a  soothing  tone,  as  he  saw  her 
eyes  widening  sorrowfully,  and  the  corners  of  her  mouth  fall- 
ing. She  said  nothing  at  tirst ;  she  only  opened  her  apron 
and  looked  down  at  her  apricots  and  sweetmeats.  Then  she 
looked  up  at  him  again,  and  said,  complainingly, 

"  I  thought  you  would  have  come,  and  we  could  sit  down 
under  a  tree  outside  the  gate,  and  eat  them  together." 

"  Tessa,  Tessa,  you  little  siren,  you  would  ruin  me,"  said 
Tito,  laugliing  and  kissing  both  her  cheeks.  "I  ought  to 
have  been  in  the  Via  de'^Bardi  long  ago.  No  !  I  must  go 
back  now  ;  you  are  in  no  danger.  There— I'll  take  an  apri- 
cot.    Addio  V 

He  had  already  stepped  two  yards  from  her  when  he  said 
the  last  word.  Tessa  could  not  have  spoken ;  she  was  pale, 
and  a  great  sob  was  rising ;  but  she  turned  round  as  if  she 
felt  there  was  no  hope  for  her,  and  stepped  on,  holding  her 
apron  so  forgetfully  that  the  apricots  began  to  roll  out  on  the 
grass. 

Tito  could  not  help  looking  after  her,  and  seeing  her  shoul- 
ders rise  to  the  bursting  sob,  and  the  apricots  fall — could  not 
help  going  after  her  and  picking  them  up^  It  was  very  hard 
upon  him":  he  was  a  long  way  off  the  Via  de'  Bardi,  and  very 
near  to  Tessa. 

"  See,  my  silly  one,"  he  said,  picking  up  the  apricots. 
"  Come,  leave  off  crying  ;  I  will  go  with  you,  and  we^l  sit  down 
under  the  tree.  Come,  I  don't  like  to  see  you  cry  ;  but  you 
know  I  must  go  back  some  time." 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  they  found  a  great  plane-tree  not 
far  outside  the  gates,  and  they  sat  down  under  it,  and  all  the 
feast  was  spread  out  on  Tessa's  lap,  she  leaning  with  her  back 
against  the  trunk  of  the  tree,  and  he  stretched  opposite  to  her, 
resting  his  elbows  on  the  rough  green  growth  cherished  by 
the  shade,  while  the  sunlight  stole  through  the  boughs  and 
played  about  them  like  a  winged  thing.  Tessa's  face  was  all 
contentment  again,  and  the  taste  of  the  apricots  and  sweet- 
meats seemed  very  good. 

"  You  pretty  bird !"  said  Tito,  looking  at  her  as  she  ^n\ 


100  ROMOLA. 

cyiiij;  the  remains  of  the  feast  with  an  evident  mental  debate 
about  saving  them,  since  he  had  said  he  would  not  have  any 
more.  "To  think  of  anyone  scoldini";  you!  AVli;it  sins  do 
you  tell  of  at  coidession,  TessnV" 

"  Oh,  a  great  many.  I  am  often  naughty.  I  don't  like 
work,  and  I  can't  help  being  idle,  though  I  know  I  shall  l)e 
beaten  and  scolded  ;  and  I  give  the  mules  the  best  fodder 
when  nobody  sees  me,  and  then  when  the  niadre  is  angry  I  say 
I  didn't  do  it,  and  that  makes  me  frightened  at  the  devil.  I 
think  the  conjuror  was  the  devil.  I  am  not  so  frightened  after 
I've  been  to  confession.  And  see,  I've  got  a  brc'e  here  that 
a  good  father  who  came  to  Prato  ]ireaching  this  Easter  bless- 
ed and  gave  us  all."  Here  Tessa  drew  from  her  bosom  a  tiny 
bag  carefully  fastened  up.  "And  I  think  the  Holy  ^Madomia 
will  take  care  of  me;  she  looks  as  if  she  would  ;  and  perhaps 
if  I  wasn't  idle  she  wouldn't  let  me  be  beaten." 

"  If  they  are  so  cruel  to  you,  Tessa,  shouldn't  you  like  to 
leave  them,  and  go  and  live  with  a  beautiful  lady  who  would 
be  kind  to  you,  if  she  would  liave  you  to  wait  upon  her?" 

Tessa  se'emed  to  hold  her  breath  for  a  moment  or  two. 
Then  she  said,  doubtfully,  "  I  don't  know." 

"  Then  should  you  like  to  be  my  little  servant,  and  live  with 
me  ?"  said  Tito,  smiling.  He  meant  no  more  than  to  see  w  hat 
sort  of  ]iretty  look  and  answer  she  would  give. 

There  was  a  flush  of  joy  immeiliately.  "  Will  you  take  me 
with  you  now?  Ah  !  I  shouldn't  go  home  and  be  beaten 
then."  8he])aused  a  little  while,  and  then  added,  more  doubt- 
fully.    "  But  I  should  like  to  fetch  my  black-faced  kid." 

"  Yes,  you  must  go  back  to  your  kid,  my  Tessa,"  said  Tito, 
rising, "  and  I  must  go  the  other  way. 

"  Hy  Jupiter  !"  he  a(hled,  as  he  went  from  under  the  shade 
of  the  tree,  "  it  is  not  a  ])leasant  time  of  day  to  walk  from 
here  to  the  Via  de'  liardi ;  I  am  more  inclined  to  lie  down 
and  sleej)  in  this  shade." 

It  ended  so.  Tito  had  an  unconquerable  aversion  to  any 
thing  unpleasant,  even  when  an  ol)jcct  very  much  loved  and 
desii'ed  was  on  the  other  side  of  it.  He  had  risen  early  ;  liad 
waited;  had  seen  sights,  and  had  been  already  walking  in  the 
sun  :  he  was  inclined  for  a  siesta,  and  inclined  all  the  more  be- 
cause little  Tessa  was  there,  and  seemed  to  make  the  air  softer. 
He  lay  down  on  tlie grass  again,  jmttinghis  cap  under  his  head 
on  a  green  turf  by  the  side  o{  Tessa.  That  was  not  quite 
comfortable  ;  so  he  moved  again,  and  asked  Tessa  to  let  him 
rest  liis  head  against  her  l:ij) ;  and  in  that  way  he  soon  fell 
asleep,  Tessa  sat  quiet  as  a  dove  on  its  nest,  just  venturing, 
when  he  was  fast  asleep,  to  touch  the  wonderful  dark  curls 


ROilOLA.  lO't 

that  fell  backward  from  his  ear.  She  was  too  happy  to  go  to 
sleep — too  happy  to  think  that  Tito  would  wake  up,  and  that 
then  he  would  leave  her,  and  she  must  go  home.  It  takes  very 
iittle  Avatcr  to  make  a  perfect  pool  for  a  tiny  fish,  where  it 
■will  find  its  world  and  paradise  all  in  one,  and  never  have  a 
presentiment  of  the  dry  bank.  The  fretted  summer  shade, 
and  stillness,  and  the  gentle  breathing  of  some  loved  life  near 
— it  would  be  paradise  to  us  all,  if  eager  thought,  the  strong 
angel  with  the  implacable  brow,  had  not  long  since  closed  the 
gates. 

It  really  was  a  long  while  before  the  waking  came — before 
the  long  dark  eyes  opened  at  Tessa,  at  first  with  a  little  sur- 
prise, and  then  with  a  smile  which  was  soon  quenched  by  some 
preoccupying  thought.  Tito's  deeper  sleep  had  broken  into  a 
doze,  in  which  he  felt  himself  in  the  Via  de'  Bardi,  explaining 
his  failure  to  appear  at  the  appointed  time.  Tlie  clear  images 
of  that  doze  urged  him  to  start  up  at  once  to  a  sitting  posture, 
and  as  he  stretched  his  arms  and  shook  his  cap  he  said : 

"  Tessa,  little  one,  you  have  let  me  sleep  too  long.  My 
hunger  and  the  shadows  together  tell  me  that  the  sun  has  done 
much  travel  since  I  fell  asleej).  I  must  lose  no  more  time. 
Addio,"  he  ended,  patting  her  cheek  with  one  hand  and  settling 
his  cap  with  the  other. 

She  said  nothing,  but  there  were  signs  in  her  face  which 
made  him  speak  again  in  as  serious  and  chiding  a  tone  as  he 
could  command  : 

"  Now,  Tessa,  you  must  not  cry.  I  shall  be  angry ;  I  shall 
not  love  you  if  you  cry.  You  must  go  home  to  your  black- 
faced  kid,  or  if  you  like  you  may  go  back  to  the  gate  and  see 
the  horses  start.  But  I  can  stay  with  you  no  longer,  and  if 
you  cry  I  shall  think  you  are  troublesome  to  me." 

The  rising  tears  were  checked  by  terror  at  this  change  in 
Tito's  voice.  Tessa  turned  very  pale  and  sat  in  trembling 
silence,  witli  her  blue  eyes  widened  by  arrested  tears. 

"  Look  now,"'  Tito  went  on,  soothingly,  opening  the  Avallet 
that  hung  at  his  belt,  "  here  is  a  pretty  charm  that  I  have  had 
a  long  while — ever  since  I  was  in  Sicily,  a  country  a  long  way 
off."' 

His  wallet  had  many  little  matters  in  it  mingled  with  small 
coins,  and  he  had  the  usual  difticultv  in  lavintr  his  finsrer  on 
the  right  thing.  He  unhooked  his  wallet,  and  turned  out  the 
contents  on  Tessa's  lap.     Among  them  was  his  onyx  ring. 

"  Ah,  my  ring  !"  he  exclaimed,  slipping  it  on  the  forefinger 
of  his  right  hand.  "  I  forgot  to  put  it  on  again  this  morning. 
Strange,  I  never  missed  it !  See,  Tessa,"  he  added,  as  he  spread 
out  the  smaller  articles,  and  selected  the  one  he  was  in  search 


108  KOMOLA. 

of.  "See  this  prclfy  little;  jiointcd  l)it  of  red  coral— like  yom 
goat's  liurn,  is  it  not?  and  licrc  is  a  hole  in  it,  so  you  can  jjut 
it  on  the  conl  round  your  neck  along  with  your  breve,  and 
then  the  evil  spiiits  caiTt  hurt  you  :  if  you  ever  see  them  com- 
ing in  the  shaclow  round  the  corner,  point  this  little  coral  horn 
at  them,  and  they  will  run  away.  It  is  a  '  buou  fortuiia,'  and 
will  keep  you  from  harm  when  I  am  not  with  you.  Come, 
nulo  the  cord.' 

Tessa  obeyed  with  a  tranquilizing  sense  that  life  was  going 
to  be  something  quite  new,  and  that  Tito  would  be  with  her 
often.  All  who  remember  their  childhood  remember  the 
strange  vague  sense,  when  some  new  experience  came,  that 
every  thing  else  was  going  to  be  changed,  and  that  there  would 
be  no  lapse  into  the  old  monotony.  So  the  bit  of  coral  was 
hung  beside  the  tiny  bag  with  the  scrap  of  scrawled  parchment 
in  it,  and  Tessa  felt  braver. 

"  And  now  you  will  give  me  a  kiss,"  said  Tito,  economizing 
time  by  8j)eaking  while  he  swept  in  the  contents  of  the  wallet 
and  liung  it  at  his  waist  again,  "  and  look  happy,  like  a  good 
girl  and  then — " 

But  Tessa  had  obediently  put  forward  her  lips  in  a  moment, 
nnd  kissed  his  cheek  as  he  hung  down  his  head. 

"  Oil,  you  pretty  ]tigcon  !"  cried  Tito,  laughing,  pressing  her 
round  cheeks  with  his  hands,  and  crushing  her  features  together 
so  as  to  give  them  a  general  impartial  kiss. 

Then  lie  started  up  and  walkeil  away,  not  looking  round  till 
he  was  ten  yards  from  her,  when  he  just  turned  ;md  gave  a 
parting  beck.  Tessa  was  looking  after  him,  but  he  could  see 
that  she  was  making  no  signs  of  distress.  Tt  was  enough  for 
Tito  if  she  did  not  cry  while  he  was  present.  The  softness  of 
his  nature  recjuired  that  all  sorrow  should  be  hidden  away 
from  him. 

"  I  wonder  when  IJomola  will  kiss  my  cheek  in  that  way?" 
thougl)t  Tito,  as  he  walki'd  along.  It  seemed  a  tiresome  dis- 
tance  now,  and  he  almost  wished  he  liad  not  been  so  soft-heart- 
ed, or  so  temi)ted  to  linger  in  the  shade.  No  other  excuse  was 
needed  to  IJardo  and  llomola  than  saying  simply  than  he  had 
been  unexpectedly  hindered  ;  he  felt  confident  their  ])roud 
delicacy  would  iiHiuirci  no  further.  He  lost  no  time  in  getting 
to  Ognissanti,  and  hastily  taking  some  f(jod  there,  he  crossed 
the  Arno  by  the  I'onte  alia  Carraja,  and  made  his  way  as  di- 
rectly as  possible  towards  the  Via  de'  Bardi. 

Hut  it  was  the  hour  when  all  the  world  who  meant  to  be  in 
particularly  goo<l  time  to  see  the  Ckn'so  were  returiiing  from 
the  lior(jIil,  or  villages  just  outside  the  gates,  Avhere  they  had 
dined  and  reposed  themselves  ;  and  the  thoroughfares  leading 


ROMOT.A.  109 

to  the  bridges  were  of  course  the  issues  towards  which  the 
stream  of  sight-seers  tended.  Just  as  Tito  reached  the  Ponte 
Vecchio  and  the  entrance  of  the  Via  de'  Bardi,  he  was  sudden- 
ly urged  back  towards  the  angle  of  the  intersecting  streets. 
A  company  on  horseback,  coming  from  the  Via  Guicciardini, 
and  turning  up  the  Via  de'  Bardi,  had  compelled  the  foot- 
passengers  to  recede  hurriedly.  Tito  had  been  walking,  as  his 
manner  was,  with  the  thumb  of  his  right  hand  resting  in  his 
belt ;  and  as  he  was  thus  forced  to  pause,  and  was  looking 
carelessly  at  the  passing  cavaliers,  he  felt  a  very  thin  cold  hand 
laid  on  his.  He  started  round,  and  saw  the  Dominican  friar 
whose  upturned  face  had  so  struck  him  in  the  morning.  Seen 
closer,  the  face  looked  more  evidently  worn  by  sickness  and 
not  by  age  ;  and  again  it  brought  some  strong  but  indefinite 
reminiscences  to  Tito. 

"  Pardon  me,  but — from  your  face  and  your  ring  " — said 
the  friar,  in  a  faint  voice,  "  is  not  your  name  Tito  Melema  ?" 

"Yes,''  said  Tito,  also  speaking  faintly,  doubly  jarred  by 
the  cold  touch  and  the  mystery.  lie  was  not  apprehensive  or 
timid  through  his  imagination,  but  through  his  sensations  and 
perceptions  he  could  easily  be  made  to  shrink  and  turn  pale 
like  a  maiden, 

"  Then  I  shall  fulfill  my  commission." 

The  friar  put  his  hand  u  ider  his  scapulary,  and  drawing 
out  a  small  linen  bag  which  hung  round  his  neck,  took  from 
It  a  bit  of  parchment,  doubled  and  stuck  firmly  together  with 
some  biack  adhesive  substance,  and  placed  it  in  Tito's  hand. 
On  the  outside  was  written  in  Italian,  in  a  small  but  distinct 
character : 

"T?io  Melema,  aged  twenty -three,  icith  a  dark,  beautiful 
face,  long  dark  curls,  the  brightest  smile,  and  a  large  onyx 
ring  on  his  right  forefinger.'''' 

Tito  did  not  look  'at  the  friar,  but  tremblingly  broke  open 
the  bit  of  parchment.     Inside,  the  Avords  were  : 

'■'•I  am  sold  for  a  slave:  I  think  they  are  going  to  take 
mc  to  Antioch.^    The  gems  alone  vjill  serve  to  ransom  mer 

Tito  looked  round  at  the  friai',  but  could  only  ask  a  ques- 
£*on  with  his  eyes. 

"  I  had  it  at  Corinth,"  the  friar  said,  speaking  with  difii- 
iulty,  like  one  whose  small  strength  had  been  sorely  taxed — 
"  I  had  it  from  a  man  who  was  dying." 

"  He  is  dead,  then  ?"  said  Tito,  with  a  bounding  of  the 
heart, 

"  Not  the  writer.  The  man  who  gave  it  me  was  a  pilgrim, 
like  myself,  to  whom  the  writer  had  intrusted  it,  because  ho 
was  journeying  to  Italy," 


ilO  KOMOl.A. 

"  You  Ivtiow  iho  contents?" 

"I  know  tlu'in  not,  but  I  conjoctMro  tlicni.  Your  friuntl  is 
in  slavery — you  will  ujo  and  rcleasL'  him.  But  I  can  not  say 
more  at  present/'  The  friar,  whose  voice  l»ad  become  feebler 
and  feebler,  sank  down  on  the  stone  bench  against  the  wail 
from  which  he  had  risen  to  touch  Tito's  hand. 

"  I  am  at  San  Marco ;  my  name  is  Fra  Luca." 


CHAPTER  XI. 


TITO's      D'lLKMMA. 


WiiEX  Fra  Luca  had  ceased  to  speak,  Tito  still  stood  by 
him  in  irresolution,  and  it  was  not  till,  the  pressure  of  the  i)as- 
sentrers  beinir  remove<l,  the  friar  rose  and  walketl  slowlv  into 
the  church  of  Santa  Felicita,  that  Tito  also  went  on  his  way 
along  the  Via  de'  Bardi. 

"If  this  monk  is  a  Florentine,"  he  sai<l  to  himself — "if  he 
is  going  to  remain  at  Florence,  every  thing  must  be  disclosed." 
He  felt  that  a  new  crisis  had  come,  but  he  was  not,  for  all  thar, 
too  agitated  to  pay  his  visit  to  Bardo,  and  apologize  for  hh 
previous  non-ajipearance.  Tito's  talent  for  concealment  was 
oeing  fast  developed  into  something  less  neutral.  It  was  still 
possible — ])erhaps  it  might  be  inevitable — for  him  to  accejit 
frankly  the  altered  conditions,  and  avow  lialdassarre's  exist- 
ence— but  hanlly  without  casting  an  ntiplcas.ant  light  back- 
ward on  his  original  reticence  as  studied  e<]uivocation,  in  or- 
der to  avoid  the  fidfillment  of  a  secretly  recognized  claini,  to 
say  nothing  of  his  quiet  settlement  of  himself  and  investment 
of  his  florins,  when,  it  woidd  be  clear,  his  benefactor's  fate  liad 
not  been  ccrtitied.  It  was,  at  least,  j)rovisional!y  wise  to  a<:l 
as  if  nothing  had  ha|)|)ened,  and,  for  the  jiresent,  he  would  s\i.s- 
j)end  decisive  thouglit;  there  was  .all  the  night  for  meditation, 
and  no  one  would  know  the  precise  moment  at  which  he  had 
received  the  letter. 

So  he  entered  the  room  on  the  second  story,  where  Romola 
ami  her  father  sat  ;imong  iIk;  i>nrchment  and  the  marble,  aloof 
fnjm  the  life  of  tlie  streets  on  holidays  ;is  well  as  on  common 
days,  with  a  face  just  a  little  less  biight  than  usual,  from  re- 
gret at  appi-aring  so  late;  a  regret  which  wanted  no  testimo- 
ny,  since  he  had  given  \ip  the  sight  of  the  Corso  in  order  to 
express  it;  and  then  set  himself  to  throw  extra  animation  into 
the  evening,  though  .all  the  while  his  consciotisness  was  at  work 
like  a  machini'  with  c<.m]>l(\  action,  leaving  de])osits  quite 
distinct  from  the  line  of  talk;  and  by  the  time  he  descended 


ROMOLA.  Ill 

the  stone  stairs  ajid  issued  from  the  grim  door  in  the  starlight 
liis  mind  had  really  reached  a  new  stage  iu  its  formation  of  a 
purpose. 

And  wlien,  the  next  day,  after  he  was  free  from  liis  profes- 
sorial work,  he  turned  up  tlie  Via  del  Cocomero,  towards  the 
convent  of  San  Marco,  his  purpose  was  fully  shaped.  He  was 
going  to  ascertain  from  Fra  Luca  precisely  how  much  he  con- 
jectured of  the  truth,  and  on  what  grounds  he  conjectured  it ; 
and,  further,  how  long  he  was  to  remain  at  San  Marco.  And 
on  that  fuller  knowledge  he  hoped  to  mould  a  statement  which 
would  in  any  case  save  him  from  the  necessity  of  quitting 
Florence.  Tito  had  never  had  occasion  to  fabricate  an  in- 
genious lie  before :  the  occasion  was  come  now — the  occasion 
which  circumstance  never  fails  to  beget  on  tacit  falsity ;  and 
his  ingenuity  was  ready.  For  he  had  convinced  himself  that 
he  was  not  bound  to  go  in  search  of  Baldassarre.  He  had 
once  said  that  on  a  fair  assurance  of  his  father's  existence  and 
Avhereabouts  he  would  unhesitatingly  go  after  him.  But,  after 
all,  ^ohy  was  he  bound  to  go  ?  What,  looked  at  closely,  was 
the  end  of  all  life,  but  to  extract  the  utmost  sum  of  pleas- 
ure ?  And  was  not  his  own  blooming  life  a  promise  of  in- 
comparably more  pleasure,  notfoi-  himself  only,  but  for  others, 
than  the  withered  wintry  life  of  a  man  who  was  past  the  time 
of  keen  enjoyment,  and  whose  ideas  had  stiffened  into  barren 
rigidity  ?  Those  ideas  had  all  been  sown  in  the  fresh  soil  of 
Tito's  mind,  aiul  were  lively  gei"ms  there ;  that  was  the  pro]>er 
order  of  things— the  order  of  Nature,  which  treats  all  maturity 
as  a  mere  nidus  for  youth.  Baldassarre  had  done  his  work, 
had  had  liis  draught  of  life  :  Tito  said  it  was  his  turn  now. 

And  the  prospect  was  so  vague  : — "  I  think  they  are  going 
to  take  me  to  Antioch  :"  here  was  a  vista  I  After  a  long  voyage, 
to  spend  months,  perhaps  years,  in  a  search  for  which  even 
now  there  was  no  guaranty  that  it  would  not  prove  vain  :  and 
to  leave  behind  at  starting  a  life  of  distinction  and  love  :  and 
to  find,  if  he  found  any  thing,  the  old  exacting  companionship 
which  was  known  by  rote  beforehand.  Certainly  the  gems 
and  therefore  the  florins  were,  in  a  sense,  Baldassarre's  :  in  the 
narrow  sense  by  which  the  right  of  possession  is  determined 
in  ordinary  affairs  ;  but  in  that  larger  and  more  radically  nat- 
ural view  by  which  the  world  belongs  to  youtli  and  strength, 
they  were  rather  his  who  could  extract  the  most  pleasure  out 
of  them.  That,  he  was  conscious,  Avas  not  the  sentiment  which 
the  complicated  play  of  human  feelings  liad  engendered  in  sO' 
ciety.  The  men  around  him  would  expect  that  he  should  im- 
mediately apply  those  florins  to  his  benefactor's  rescue.  But 
what  "was  the  sentiment  of  societv  ? — a  mere  tangle  of  anoma 


1  1  2  ROM  OLA. 

lous  traditions  and  opinions,  that  no  wise  man  would  take  aa  a 
guide,  except  so  far  as  his  own  comfort  was  concerned.  Not 
that  he  cared  for  the  iloriiis,  save  perliaps  for  lioiuohi's  sake: 
he  would  give  up  the  llorius  readily  enough.  It  was  tlie  joy 
that  was  due  to  liim  and  was  close  to  liis  lijts,  which  he  felt  he 
Mas  not  bound  to  thrust  away  from  him  and  travel  on,  thirst- 
ing. Any  maxims  that  retpiired  a  man  to  lling  away  the  good 
that  was  needed  to  make  existence  sweet  were  only  the  lining 
of  human  selfishness  turned  outward  :  they  were  made  by  men 
who  wanted  others  to  sacriiice  themselves  for  their  sake.  He 
would  rather  that  Baldassarre  should  not  suffer :  he  liked  no 
one  to  suffer  :  but  could  any  philosophy  prove  to  him  that  he 
was  bound  to  care  for  another's  suffering  more  than  hn-  his 
own  y  To  do  so,  he  must  have  loved  Baldassarre  devotedly, 
and  lie  did  not  love  him ;  was  that  his  own  fault  V  Gratitude  ! 
seen  closely,  it  made  no  valid  claim :  liis  father's  life  would 
have  been  dreary  without  him  :  are  we  convicted  of  a  debt  to 
men  for  the  pleasure  they  give  themselves? 

Having  once  begun  to  explain  away  Baldassarre's  claim, 
Tito's  thought  showed  itself  as  active  as  a  virulent  acid,  eating 
its  ra])id  way  through  all  the  tissues  of  sentiment.  His  mind 
was  destitute  of  that  dread  which  has  been  erroneouslv  decried 
as  if  it  were  nothing  higher  than  a  man's  animal  care  for  his 
own  skin  :  that  awe  of  the  Divine  Nemesis  which  was  felt  by 
religious  ])agans,  and,  though  it  took  a  more  ])osilive  form  un- 
der Christianity,  is  still  felt  by  the  mass  of  mankind  simply  .as 
a  vague  fear  at  any  thing  which  is  called  wrong-doing.  Such 
terror  of  the  unseen  is  so  far  above  mere  sensual  cowardice 
that  it  will  annihilate  that  cowardice:  it  is  tlu>  initial  recogni- 
tion of  a  moral  law  restraining  desire,  and  checks  the  hard, 
bold  scrutiny  of  imjierfect  thought  into  obligations  which  can 
never  be  j)roved  to  havi'  any  sanctity  in  the  absi-nce  of  feeling. 
"  It  is  good,"  sing  the  old  Kumenides,  in  ^Eschylus,  "  that  fear 
should  sit  as  the  guardian  of  the  soul,  forcing  it  into  wisdom — 
good  that  men  should  carry  a  threatening  shadow  in  their 
hearts  under  the  full  sunshine;  else,  how  shall  they  le:irn  to 
revere  the  right  ?"  That  guardiajiship  may  become  needless  ; 
but  only  when  all  outward  law  has  l)ecome  needless — only  when 
luty  and  love  have  united  in  one  stream  and  made  a  common 
iorce. 

As  Tito  entered  the  outer  cloister  of  San  IMarco  and  in- 
quired for  Fra  TiUca  there  was  no  shadowy  prt'sentiment  in 
his  mind;  lie  telt  hiinsc'lf  too  cultured  and  skeptical  for  that: 
he  had  been  mirture<l  in  contempt  for  the  tales  of  priests  whose 
impudent  lives  were  a  proverb;  and  in  erudite  familiarity 
with  disputes  concerning  the  chief  good,  which  had  after  all, 


EOMOLA.  113 

he  considered,  left  it  a  matter  of  taste.  Yet  fear  was  a  strong 
element  in  Tito's  nature — tlie  fear  of  Avhat  he  believed  or  saw 
was  likely  to  rob  him  of  pleasure ;  and  he  had  a  definite  fear 
that  Fra  Luca  might  be  the  means  of  driving  him  from  Flor- 
ence. 

"  Fra  Luca  ?  ah,  he  is  gone  to  Fiesole — to  the  Dominican 
monastery  there.  He  was  taken  on  a  litter  in  the  cool  of  the 
morning.  The  poor  brother  is  very  ill.  Could  you  leave  a 
message  for  him  ?" 

This  answer  was  given  by  a  fra  converso,  or  lay  brother, 
whose  accent  told  plainly  that  he  was  a  raw  contadino,  and 
whose  dull  glance  implied  no  curiosity. 

"  Thanks  ;  my  business  can  wait." 

Tito  turned  away  with  a  sense  of  relief.  "  This  friar  is  not 
likelv  to  live,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  I  saw  he  was  worn  to  a 
Eshadow.  And  at  Fiesole  there  will  be  notliing  to  recall  me  to 
his  mind.  Besides,  if  he  should  come  back,  my  explanation 
will  serve  as  well  then  as  now.  But  I  wish  I  knew  what  it 
was  that  his  face  recalled  to  me." 


CHAPTER  XH. 

THE  PEIZE  IS   NEARLY  GRASPED. 

Tito  walked  along  with  a  light  step,  for  the  immediate  fear 
had  vanished ;  the  usual  joyousness  of  his  disposition  reassimied 
its  predominance,  and  he  Avas  going  to  see  Romola.  Yet 
Romola's  life  seemed  an  image  of  that  loving,  pitying  devoted- 
ness,  that  patient  endurance  of  irksome  tasks  from  which  he 
had  shrunk  and  excused  himself.  But  he  was  not  out  of  love 
with  goodness,  or  prepared  to  plunge  into  vice ;  he  was  in  his 
fresh  youth,  with  soft  pulses  for  all  charm  and  loveliness ;  he 
had  still  a  healthy  appetite  for  ordinary  human  joys,  and  the 
poison  could  only  work  by  degrees.  He  had  sold  himself  to 
evil,  but  at  present  life  seemed  so  nearly  the  same  to  him  that 
he  was  not  conscious  of  the  bond.  He  meant  all  things  to  go 
on  as  they  had  done  before,  both  within  and  without  him  :  he 
meant  to  win  golden  o])inions  by  nieritorious  exertion,  by  iu- 
genious  learning,  by  amiable  compliance :  he  Avas  not  going  to 
do  any  thing  that  would  throw  him  out  of  harmony  with  the 
beings  he  cared  for.  And  he  cared  supremely  for  Romola  ;  he 
Avished  to  have  her  for  his  majestic,  beautiful,  and  loving  wife. 
There  might  be  a  Avealthier  alliance  withm  the  ultimate  reach 
of  successful  accomplishments  like  his,  but  there  was  no  Avoman 
in  all  Florence  like  Romola.     When  she  Avas  near  him,,  and 


1  1  4  ROMOLA. 

looked  :it  liiin  with  lier  sincere  hazel  eyes,  he  was  subdued  b^ 
a  di'licious  iiitluence  as  strong  and  inevitable  as  tiiose  musical 
vibrations  wliirli  take  ])(>sscssit)n  of  us  with  a  rliythniic  em- 
pire that  no  sooner  ceases  than  we  desire  it  to  begin  again. 

As  lie  trod  the  stone  stairs,  when  he  was  still  outsitle  the 
door,  witli  no  one  but  Maso  near  liim,the  intbience  seemed  to 
have  begun  its  work  by  tlie  mere  nearness  ot  anticipation. 

"  Welcome,  Tilo  mio,''  said  the  old  man's  voice,  before  Tito 
had  spoken.  There  was  a  new  vigor  in  the  voice,  a  new  cheer- 
fulness in  the  blind  face,  since  that  first  intt'rview  more  than 
two  months  ago.  "  You  have  brought  fresh  mamiscript, 
doubtless;  but  since  we  were  talking  last  night  I  have  had 
new  ideas:  we  must  take  a  wider  scope — we  must  go  back 
iil>on  our  footste))s." 

Tito,  paying  his  homage  to  Romola  as  he  advanced,  went, 
as  his  custom  was,  straight  to  Bardo's  chair,  and  put  his  hand 
in  the  palm  that  was  held  to  receive  it,  placing  himself  on  the 
cross-leLrired  leather  seat  with  scrolled  emls,  close  to  Bardo's  el- 
bow. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  in  his  gentle  wav ;  "I  have  brought  the 
new  manuscript,  but  that  can  wait  your  |)leasure.  1  have 
young  limbs  you  know,  and  can  walk  back  up  the  hill  without 
any  difficulty." 

He  dill  not  look  at  Komola  as  he  said  this,  but  he  knew 
quite  well  that  her  eyes  were  fixed  on  him  with  delight. 

"That  is  well  said,  my  son."  Bardo  had  alreadv  addressed 
Tito  ill  this  way  once  or  twice  of  late.  "And  I  perceive  with 
gla<liiess  that  you  do  not  shrink  from  labor,  without  which,  the 
poet  has  wisely  said,  life  has  given  nothing  to  mortals.  It  is 
too  often  the  '  palma  sine  pulvere,'  the  jirize  of  glory  without 
the  dust  of  till!  race,  that  young  ambition  covets.  But  what 
says  the  Greek?  'In  the  morning  of  life,  work ;  in  the  mid- 
day, give  counsel;  in  the  evening,  jtray.'  It  is  true,  I  might 
be  thought  to  have  reached  that  helpless  evening:  but  not  so, 
while  I  have  counsel  within  me  which  is  yet  unspoken.  Vov 
my  mind,  as  I  have  often  said,  was  shut  up  as  by  a  dam  ;  the 
plenteous  waters  lay  dark  and  motionless,  but  you,  Tito  mio, 
have  opened  a  duct  for  them,  and  they  rush  forward  with  a 
iorce  that  surprises  myself.  And  now,  what  I  want  is,  that 
we  should  go  over  our  i)reliminary  ground  again,  with  a  wider 
scheme  of  comment  and  illustration,  otherwise  I  may  lose  op- 
portunities which  1  now  see  retrospectively,  and  whidi  may 
never  occur  again.     You  mark  what  I  am  saying,  Tito  V" 

He  ln<l  just  stooi)ed  to  reach  his  ^nanuscrijjt,  which  had 
roUeil  down,  and  Bardo's  jealous  ear  was  alive  to  the  slight 
movement. 


ROMOLA.  115 

Tito  might  have  been  excused  for  shrugging  liis  shoulders 
at  the  prospect  before  liiui,  but  he  was  not  naturally  impa- 
tient; moreover,  he  had  been  bred  up  in  that  laborious  erudi- 
tion, at  once  minute  and  copious,  which  was  the  chief  intellec- 
tual task  of  the  age ;  and  with  Komola  near,  he  was  floated 
along  by  waves  of  agreeable  sensation  that  made  every  thing 
seem  easy. 

"Assuredly;"  he  said,  "you  wish  to  enlarge  your  com- 
ments on  certain  passages  we  have  cited." 

"  Not  only  so ;  I  wish  to  introduce  an  occasional  excursus^ 
where  we  ha\'e  noticed  an  author  to  whom  I  have  given  si)e- 
cial  study ;  for  I  may  die  too  soon  to  achieve  any  sejjarate  work. 
And  this  is  not  a  time  for  scholarly  integrity  and  well-sifted 
learning  to  lie  idle,  when  it  is  not  only  rash  ignorance  that 
we  have  to  fear,  but  when  there  are  men  like  Calderino,  who, 
as  Poliziano  has  well  shown,  have  recourse  to  impudent  falsi- 
ties of  citation  to  serve  the  ends  of  their  vanity  and  secure  a 
triumph  to  their  own  mistakes.  Wherefore,  Tito  mio,  I  think 
it  not  well  that  we  should  let  slip  the  occasion  that  lies  under 
our  hands.  And  now  we-  will  turn  back  to  the  point  where 
we  have  cited  the  passage  from  Thucydides,  and  I  wish  you, 
)jy  way  of  preliminary,  to  go  with  me  through  all  my  notes  on 
the  Latin  translation  made  l>y  Lorenzo  Valla,  for  which  the 
incomparable  Pope  Nicholas  V. — with  whose  peusonal  notice 
I  Avas  honored  while  I  was  yet  young,  and  when  he  was  still 
Thomas  of  Sarzana — paid  him  (I  say  not  unduly)  the  sum  of 
five  hundred  gold  scudi.  But  inasmuch  as  Valla,  though 
otherw^ise  of  dubious  fame,  is  held  in  high  honor  for  his  severe 
scholarship,  so  that  the  epigrammatist  has  jocosely  said  of  him 
that  since  he  went  among  the  shades,  Pluto  himself  has  not 
dared  to  speak  in  the  ancient  languages,  it  is  the  more  need- 
ful that  his  name  should  not  be  as  a  stamp  warranting  false 
wares ;  and  therefore  I  would  introduce  an  excursus  on  Tlmcyd- 
ides,  wherein  my  castigations  of  Valla's  text  may  find  a  fit-, 
ting  place.  Romola  mia,  thou  wilt  reach  the  needful  volumes 
— thou  knowest  them — on  the  fifth  shelf  of  the  cabinet." 

Tito  rose  at  the  same  moment  with  Romola,  saying,  "I 
will  reach  them,  if  you  will  point  them  out,"  and  followed  her 
hastily  into  the  adjoining  small  room,  where  the  walls  were 
also  covered  with  ranges  of  books  in  j^erfect  order. 

"There  they  are,"  said  Komola,  pointing  upward;  "every 
book  is  just  where  it  was  when  my  father  ceased  to  see 
them." 

Tito  stood  by  her  Avithout  hastening  to  reach  the  books. 
They  had  never  been  in  this  room  together  before. 

"I  hope,"  she  continued,  turning  her  eyes  full  on  Tito,  with 


I  I  0  ROMOLA. 

.1  look  of  c^ravc  confidence — "I  hope  he  will  not  weary  you; 
this  work  makes  him  so  happy." 

"And  me  too,  llornola — it  you  will  only  let  me  say,  I  love 
you — if  you  will  only  think  me  worth  lovinij^  a  little." 

His  speech  was  the  softest  murmur,  and  the  dark  beautifu'i 
face,  nearer  to  hers  than  it  had  ever  been  before,  was  looking 
at  iicr  with  beseechini^  temleriiess. 

"I  do  love  you,"  murniurud  Komola ;  she  looked  at  him 
with  the  same  simple  majesty  as  ever,  but  her  voice  had  never 
in  hxcr  life  before  sunk  to  that  murmur.  It  seemed  to  tliem 
both  that  they  were  looking  at  each  other  a  long  while  before 
her  lips  moved  again  ;  yet  it  was  but  a  moment  till  she  said, 
•'  I  know  noio  what  it  is  to  be  happy." 

The  faces  just  met,  and  the  dark  curls  mingled  for  an  in- 
stant with  the  rippling  gold,  (^uick  as  lightning  after  that, 
Tito  set  his  foot  on  a  projcctmg  ledge  of  the  book-shelves  and 
reached  down  the  needful  volumes.  They  were  both  content- 
etl  to  be  silent  and  separate,  for  that  first  blissful  experience 
of  mutual  consciousness  was  all  the  more  extpiisite  for  being 
unperturbed  by  immediate  sensation. 

It  had  all  been  as  rapid  as  the  irreversible  mingling  of 
waters,  for  even  the  eager  and  jealous  Bardo  had  not  become 
impatient. 

"You  have  the  volumes,  my  Romola?"  the  oM  man  said, 
as  they  came  near  him  again.  "  And  now  you  will  get  your 
pen  ready;  for,  as  Tito  marks  off  the  scholia  wu  determine  on 
e.Ktracting,  it  will  be  well  for  you  to  copy  them  without  delay 
— numbering  them  carefully,  mind,  to  correspond  with  the 
numl)ers  he  will  ))Ut  m  the  text  he  will  write." 

Romola  always  had  some  task  which  gave  her  a  sliarc  in 
this  joint  work.  Tito  took  his  stand  at  the  iei/;//o,  where  ho 
V)ofh  wrote  and  read,  and  she  placed  herself  at  a  table  just  in 
front  of  him,  where  she  was  ready  to  give  into  her  father's 
hands  any  thing  that  he  might  happen  to  want,  or  relieve  him 
of  a  vi)lmne  that  he  had  <lone  with.  They  had  always  been 
in  that  i)osition  since  the  work  began,  yet  on  this  day  it  seem- 
ed new;  it  was  so  different  now  for  them  to  be  opposite  ejjch 
other;  so  different  for  Tito  to  take  a  book  from  her  as  she 
lifted  it  from  her  father's  knee.  Yet  there  was  no  finesse  to 
secure  an  additional  look  or  touch.  Each  woman  creates  in 
her  own  likeness  the  love-tokens  that  are  olfei'ed  to  her;  and 
Komola's  di'i'p,  caltn  lia|)itiness  encompassed  Tito  like  the  rich 
but  (|uiet  evening  light  wliieh  dissipates  all  um'est. 

They  had  been  two  hours  at  their  work,  and  were  just  de- 
sistitig  because  of  tlw^  fading  light,  when  the  door  opeiuMl  and 
there  entered  a  figure  strangclv  ineongiMous  with  the  eurrent 


ROMOLA.  VI 

of  their  thoughts  and  with  the  suggestions  of  every  ohje-jt 
around  them.  It  was  the  figure  of  a  sliort,  stout  bhick- 
eycd  woman,  nearly  fifty,  wearing  a  black  velvet  berretta, 
or  close  cap,  embroidered  Avith  pearls,  under  which  surpris- 
ingly massive  black  braids  surmounted  the  little  bulging 
forehead,  and  fell  in  rich  plaited  curves  over  the  ears, 
while  an  equally  surprising  carmine  tint  on  the  upper  region 
of  the  fat  cheeks  contrasted  with  the  surrounding  sallownesSc 
Three  rows  of  pearls  and  a  lower  necklace  of  gold  reposed  on 
the  horizontal  cushion  of  her  neck ;  the  embroidered  border 
of  her  trailing  black  velvet  gown  and  her  embroidered  long- 
drooping  sleeves  of  rose-colored  damask,  were  slightly  faded, 
but  they  conveyed  to  the  initiated  eye  the  satisfactory  assu- 
rance that  they  were  the  splendid  result  of  six  months'  labor 
by  a  skilled  workman ;  and  the  rose-coloi-ed  petticoat,  Avith  its 
dimmed  white  fringe  and  seed-pearl  arabesques,  was  duly  ex- 
hibited in  order  to  suggest  a  similar  pleasing  reflection.  A 
handsome  coral  rosary  hung  from  one  side  of  an  inferential 
belt,  which  emerged  into  certainty  with  a  large  clasp  of  silver 
wrought  in  niello;  and  on  the  other  side,  where  the  belt  again 
became  inferential,  hung  a  scarsella,  or  large  purse  of  crimson 
velvet,  stitched  with  pearls.  Her  little  fat  right  hand,  which 
looked  as  if  it  had  been  made  of  paste,  and  liad  risen  out  of 
shape  under  partial  baking,  held  a  small  book  of  devotions, 
also  splendid  with  velv^et,  pearls,  and  silver. 

The  figure  was  already  too  familiar  to  Tito  to  be  startling, 
for  Monna  Brigida  Avas  a  frequent  visitor  at  Bardo\s,  being 
excepted  from  the  sentence  of  banishment  passed  on  feminine 
triviality  on  the  ground  of  her  cousinship  to  his  dead  Avife  and 
her  early  care  for  Romola,  Avho  now  looked  round  at  her  Avith 
an  affectionate  smile,  and  rose  to  draw  the  leather  seat  to  a 
due  distance  from  her  father's  chair,  that  the  coming  gush  of 
talk  might  not  be  too  near  his  ear. 

"Xa  cugina?''''  said  Bardo  interrogatively,  detecting  the 
short  steps  and  the  sweeping  drapery. 

"  Yes,  it  is  your  cousin,"  said  Monna  Brigida,  in  an  alert 
voice,  raising  her  fingers  smilingly  at  Tito,  and  then  lifting  up 
[}er  face  to  be  kissed  by  Romola.  "  Ahvays  the  troublesome 
-zugina  breaking  in  on  your  Avisdom,"  she  went  on,  seating 
herself  and  beafinning  to  fan  herself  Avith  the  Avhite  veil 
hanging  OA'er  her  arm.  "  Well,  Avell ;  if  I  didn't  bring  you 
some  news  of  the  Avorld  now  and  then,  I  do  believe  you'd 
forget  there  was  any  thing  in  life  but  these  mouldy  an- 
cients, who  Avant  sprinkling  with  holy  Avater  if  all  I  hear 
about  them  is  true.  Not  but  what  the  Avorld  is  bad  enough 
noAvadays,  for    the   scandals  that  turn  up  under  one's   uose 


1 1  8  KOMOLA. 

at  every  corner  —  /  don't  want  to  hear  and  see  such 
tlun<;s,  but  one  can't  go  about  witli  oijc's  head  in  a  bag;  and 
it  was  only  yesterday — well,  well,  you  needn't  burst  out  at 
lue,  liardo,  1  am  not  going  to  tell  any  thing;  it  I'm  not  as 
wise  as  the  tliree  kings  I  know  how  many  legs  go  into  one 
boot.  But,  nevertlieless,  Florence  is  a  wicked  city  —is  it  not 
true,  Messer  Tito?  for  you  go  into  the  world.  Not  but 
what  one  must  sin  a  little — Messer  Domeneddio  expects  that 
of  us, else  what  are  tlie  blessed  sacraments  for?  And  what  I 
•say  is,  we've  got  to  re\  ereiice  tlie  saints,  and  not  to  set  our- 
selves up  as  if  we  could  be  like  them,  else  life  would  be  un- 
bearable;  as  it  will  be  if  things  go  on  after  this  new  fashion. 
For  what  do  you  thinks  I've  been  at  the  wedding  to-day — 
Dianora  Acciajoli's  with  tlic  young  Albizzi  tliat  there  lias  been 
so  much  talk  of— and  every  bodv  wondered  at  its  beinif  to- 
day  instead  of  yesterday  ;  but,  cieli!  such  a  wedding  as  it  was 
might  liave  been  put  off  till  the  next  Quaresima  for  a  ))enance. 
For  there  was  the  bride  looking  like  a  white  nun — not  so 
mucli  as  •!  ]jearl  about  her — and  the  bridegroom  as  solemn  as 
San  Giusei)pe.  It's  true !  And  half  the  [people  invited  were 
phtgnoni — they  call  \\\q\w  pinrjnoui*  now,  these  new  saints  of 
Fra  Girolamo's  making.  And  to  think,  of  two  families  like 
the  Albizzi  and  the  Acciajoli  taking  up  such  notions,  when 
they  could  aftord  to  wear  the  best!  Well,  well,  thoy  invited 
me — but  they  could  do  no  other,  seeing  my  husband  was  Luca 
Antonio's  uncle  by  the  mother's  side — and  a  ])retty  tim(;  1 
}iad  of  it  while  we  waite<l  under  the  canopy  in  front  of  tiiQ 
liouse  before  they  let  us  in.  I  coulcbi't  stand  in  my  clothes, 
it  seemed,  without  giving  offense;  for  there  was  Monna  lierta, 
who  has  liad  worse  secrets  in  her  time  than  any  I  could  tell  of 
iiiyself,  looking  askance  at  me  from  under  her  hoo<l  like  a 
piiizorhcra^  and  telling  mc  to  read  the  Frate's  book  a!)()ut 
widows,  fiom  which  she  had  found  great  guidance.  I  Inly 
Madonna  !  it  seems  as  if  widows  had  nothing  to  do  now  but 
to  buy  tlieir  colliiis,  and  think  if  a  thousand  years  till  they  get 
into  them,  instead  of  enjoying  themselves  a  little  when  they've 
got  their  hands  free  for  the  iirst  time.  '  And  what  do  you  think 
was  the  music  we  had  to  make  our  dinner  lively  ?  A  long  dis- 
course from  Fra  Domenico  of  San  Marco,  about  the  <loctrines 
of  their  Idesseil  Fia  (lirolamo — the  three  doctrines  we  are  all 
to  get  by  heart;  and  he  kept  marking  them  off  on  Ii  is  fingers 
till  he  made  my  ilesh  creep  :  and  the  first  is,  Florence,  or  the 
Church— I  don't  know  which,  for  Iirst  he  said  one  and  then  the 
other — shall  be  scourged  ;  but  if  he  means  the  j)estilence  th« 

*  Fiiiu'nil  monrnors  :  jnoporly,  p.iid  mourners. 

f  A  Sister  of  tlie  Tliird  (jrder  of  St.  FnmcLs  :  an  iincloistered  nun 


ROMOLA.  119 

Sio-nory  oiigTit  to  put  a  stop  to  such  preacliing;,  for  it's  enough 
to  raise  the  sweUing  under  one's  arm  with  fright ;  but  then, 
after  that,  he  says  Florence  is  to  be  regenerated ;  but  wliat 
will  be  the  good  of  that  when  we're  all  dead  of  the  plague  or 
something  else  ?  And  then  the  third  thing,  and  Avhat  he  said 
oftenest,  is,  that  it  s  all  to  be  in  our  days  :  and  he  marked  that 
off  on  Ids  thumb  till  he  made  me  tremble  like  the  very  jelly 
before  me.  They  had  jellies,  to  be  sure,  with  the  arms  of  the 
Albizzi  and  the  Acciajoli  raised  on  them  in  all  colors  ;  they've 
not  turned  tlie  world  quite  u})side  down  yet.  But  all  their 
talk  is,  that  we  are  to  go  back  to  the  old  ways  :  for  u})  starts 
Francesco  A^alori,  that  I've  danced  with  in  the  Via  Larga  when 
lie  was  a  bachelor  and  as  fond  of  the  Medici  as  any  body,  and 
he  makes  a  speech  about  the  old  times,  before  the  P'lorentines 
had  left  off  crying  '■  Popolo''  and  begun  to  cry  '•PulW — as  if 
that  had  any  thing  to  do  with  a  wedding  ! — and  how  we  oughti 
lo  keep  to  the  rules  the  Signory  laid  down  Heaven  knows  wlien 
tliat  we  were  not  tc  wear  this  and  that,  and  not  to  eat  this  and 
that — and  how  our  manners  were  corrupted  and  we  read  bad 
books  ;  though  he  can't  .say  tliat  of  me — " 

"Stop,  cuginaP''  said  Bardo,  in  his  imperious  tone,  for  ho 
had  a  remark  to  make,  and,  only  desperate  measures  could 
arrest  the  rattling  lengthiness  of  ]Moiina  Brigida's  discourse. 
But  now  she  gave  a  little  start,  pursed  uj)  ,her  mouth  ai.l 
looked  at  him  with  round  eyes. 

"Francesco  Valori  is  not  altogether  wrong,"  Barr.-*  went; 
on.  "  Bernardo,  indeed,  rates  him  not  highly,  and  i>  rathei* 
of  opinion  that  he  christens  private  grudges  by  the  name  of 
public  zeal ;  though  I  must  admit  that  my  good  Bernardo  is 
too  slow  of  belief  in  that  unalloyed  patriotism  which  was 
found  in  all  its  lustre  among  the  ancients.  But  it  is  true,  Tito, 
that  our  manners  have  degenerated  somewhat  from  that  noble 
frugality  which,  as  has  been  well  seen  in  the  public  acts  of 
your  citizens,  is  the  parent  of  true  magniticence.  For  men,  as 
I  hear,  will  now  spend  on  the  transient  sliow  of  a  giostra  sums 
which  would  suffice  to  found  a  library,  and  confer  a  lasting 
possession  on  mankind.  Still,  I  conceive,  it  i-emains  true  of 
lis  Florentines  that  we  have  more  of  that  magnanimous  sobri- 
ety which  abhors  a  trivial  lavishness  that  it  may  be  grandly 
open-handed  on  grand  occasions,  than  can  be  found  in  any 
other  city  of  Italy  ;  for  I  understand  that  the  Neapolitan  and 
Milanese  courtiers  laugh  at  the  scarcity  of  our  plate,  and  think 
scorn  of  our  great  families  for  borrowing  from  each  other  thai 
furniture  of  the  table  at  their  entertainments.  But  in  the  vain 
laughter  of  folly  wisdom  hears  half  its  applause." 

"Laughter,  indeed  !"  bu-rst  forth  Monna  Brigida  again,  the 


120  ROMOLA. 

momeuL  Bardo  jKiuscd.  "  If  any  body  wanted  to  hear  laugh, 
ter  at  tlio  wedding  to-day  they  were  disappointed,  for  when 
young  Niccolo  ."Maccliiavelli  tried  to  make  a  joke,  and  told 
stories  out  of  Franco  Sacohelti's  book,  liow  it  was  no  use  for 
the  Signoria  to  make  rules  for  us  women,  because  we  were 
cleverer  than  all  the  painters,  and  architects,  and  doctors  of 
logic  in  the  world,  for  we  could  make  black  look  white, 
and  yellow  look  ])iuk,  and  crooked  look  straight,  and,  if  any 
thing  was  forbidden,  we  could  find  a  new  name  for  it — Holy 
Virgin !  the  piagnoiii  looked  more  dismal  than  before,  and 
somebody  said  Sacchetti's  book  was  wicked.  Well,  I  don't  read 
it — they  can't  accuse  me  of  reading  any  thing.  Save  me  from 
going  to  a  wedding  again  if  that's  to  be  the  fashion  ;  for  all  of 
us  who  were  not  2>i<if/»07il  were  as  comfortable  as  Met  chick- 
ens. I  was  never  caught  in  a  worse  trap  but  once  before,  and 
that  was  when  I  went  to  hear  their  precious  Frate  last  Quare- 
sima  in  San  Lorenzo,  Perhaps  I  never  told  you  about  it,  ]Mes- 
ser  Tito? — it  almost  freezes  my  blood  when  I  think  of  it. 
How  he  rated  us  poor  women  !  and  the  men,  too,  to  tell  the 
triith,  but  I  didn't  mind  that  so  much.  He  called  us  cows, 
and  lumps  of  flosli,  and  wantons,  and  juischief-makcrs — and  I 
could  just  bear  that,  for  triere  were  plenty  others  more  fleshy 
and  spiteful  than  I  was — though  every  now  and  then  his  voice 
eiiook  the  very  bench  und^r  me  like  a  trumpet;  but  then  he 
came  to  the  cdpelli  inortl  (dead,  /.  e.,  false  hair),  and,  0\\  mis 
cricordia!  lie  made  aj)icture — I  see  it  now — of  a  young  wom- 
an lying  a  pale  corpse,  and  us  light-minded  widows — of  course 
lie  meant  me  as  well  as  the  rest,  for  I  had  my  plaits  on,  for  if 
one  IS  getting  old,  one  doesn't  want  to  look  as  ugly  as  the  IJe- 
fana* — us  widows  rushing  up  to  the  corpse,  like  bare-jtated 
vultures  as  we  were,  and  cutting  off  its  young  dead  liair  to 
deck  our  old  lieads  with.  Oh,  the  (beams  I  ha<l  after  tliat ! 
And  then  he  cried,  and  wrung  his  hands  at  us,  and  I  cried  too 
{jnaf/noni,  indeed  !  they  may  well  do  j)'ifff/noni).  And  to  go 
home,  and  to  take  off  my  jewels,  this  very  clasp,  and  every 
thing,  and  to  make  them  into  a  packct,_/V/  tutCiD^o  ;  and  T  was 
within  a  hair  of  sending  tlieni  to  the  good  men  of  St.  .Martin 
to  give  to  the  poor,  but,  by  Heaven's  mercy,  I  bethought  me 
of  going  first  to  my  confessor,  Fra  Cristoforo,  at  Santa  Croc^.-, 
and  he  told  me  how  it  was  all  the  work  of  the  devil,  this  preach- 
ing and  prophesying  of  their  P"'ra  (yirolamo,  and  the  Domini- 
cans were  trymg  to  ttirn  the  world  upside  down,  and  T  wa* 
never  to  go  and  hear  him  again,  else  T  must  do  ^icnance  for  it; 

*  Tli«  nnmo  iiyrvu  to  tlie  {;r()lc?<(|tir  lil.ick-fiiccd  fif^iuo,-.  Miiijidx'tl  to  repro- 
Bent  the  .Ma;^i,  c-:irri<'d  altuiit  or  iiiiueil  in  tim  wintlow.^  on  'I'wclfili  Night  :  a 
lOiniptioii  of  Ei>ifanitt. 


EOMOLA.  121 

for  the  s^reat  preachers  Fra  Mariano  and  Fra  Menico  had 
shown  how  Fra  Girolamo  preached  lies — and  that  was  true, 
for  I  heard  them  both  in  the  Duonio — and  how  the  Pope's 
dream  of  San  Francesco  propping  up  the  Church  with  liis  arms 
was  being  fulfilled  still,  and  the  Dominicans  were  beginning  to 
pull  it  down.  Well  and  good :  I  went  away  con  Dio,  and 
made  myself  easy.  I  am  not  going  to  be  frightened  by  a  Fi-ate 
Predicatore  again.  And  all  I  say  is,  I  wish  it  hadn't  been  the 
Dominicans  that  poor  Dino  joined  years  ago,  for  then  I  should 
have  been  glad  when  I  heard  them  say  he  was  come  back — " 

"  Silenzio  !"  said  Bardo,  in  a  loud,  agitated  voice,  while 
Romola  half-started  from  her  chair,  clasped  her  hands,  and 
looked  round  at  Titc,  as  if  noin  she  miglit  appeal  to  him. 
JMonna  Brigida  gave  a  little  scream  and  bit  her  lip. 

"  Donna  !"  said  Bardo  again,  "  hear  once  more  my  wilL 
Bring  no  reports  about  that  name  to  this  house ;  and  thou, 
Romola,  I  forbid  thee  to  ask.     My  son  is  dead." 

Bardo's  whole  fi-ame  seemed  vibrating  with  passion,  and 
HO  one  dared  to  break  silence  again.  Monna  Brigida  lifted 
iier  shoulders  and  lier  hands  in  mute  dismay  ;  then  she  rose  as 
quietly  as  possible,  gave  many  significant  nods  to  Tito  and 
Romola,  motioning  to  them  that  they  were  not  to  move,  and 
stole  out  of  the  room  like  a  culpable  fat  spaniel  who  has  barked 
unseasonably. 

Meanwhile,  Tito's  quick  mind  had  been  combining  ideas 
with  lightning-like  rapidity.  Bardo's  son  was  not  really  dead, 
then,  as  he  had  supposed:  he  was  a  monk;  he  was  "come 
back  :"  and  Fra  Luca — yes  !  it  was  the  likeness  to  Bardo  and 
Romola  that  had  made  the  face  seem  half-known  to  him.  If 
he  were  only  dead  at  Fiesole  at  that  moment !  This  impor- 
tunate selfish  wish  inevitably  thrust  itself  before  eveiy  other 
thought.  It  was  true  that  Bardo's  rigid  will  was  a  sufficient 
safeguard  against  any  intercourse  between  Romola  and  her 
brother  ;  but  not  against  the  betrayal  of  what  ho  knew  to  oth- 
ers, especially  when  the  subject  was  suggested  by  the  coupling 
of  Romola's  name  with  that  of  the  very  Tito  Melema  whose 
descri|>tion  he  had  carried  round  his  neck  as  an  index.  No  ! 
nothing  but  Fra  Luca's  death  could  remove  all  danger ;  but 
his  death  was  highly  probable,  and  after  the  n^omentary  shock 
of  the  discovery,  Tito  let  his  mind  fall  back  in  repose  on  that 
confident  hope. 

They  had  sat  in  silence,  and  in  a.  deepening  twilight  for 
many  minutes,  when  Romola  ventured  to  say — 

*■  Shall  I  light  the  lamp,  father,  and  shall  we  go  on  ?" 

-'  No,  my  Romola,  we  will  work  no  more  to-night,  Tito, 
come  and  sit  bv  me  heie." 


V12  '  KOMOLA. 

Tito  inovfcl  from  the  reatliiig-desk  and  seated  luinself  on 
the  other  side  of  Jiardo  dose  to  his  left  elbow. 

"Come  rieai'er  to  me,  fi^liuola  mia,"  said  Hardo  a^aiu,  after 
a  moment's  pause.  Anil  Komola  seated  herself  on  a  low  stool 
and  let  her  arm  rest  on  Iier  father's  right  knee,  that  he  mi<d»t 
lav  his  hand  on  her  hair,  as  he  was  fond  of  doinir. 

"Tito,  I  never  told  you  that  I  had  once  a  son,"  .-aid  I>ardo, 
Jor<^etting  what  had  fallen  from  him  in  the  emotion  I'aised  l.'y 
'fheir  first  interview.  The  old  man  had  been  deeply  shaken 
and  was  foreed  to  ])our  out  his  feelings  in  sj)ite  of  pride. 
"JJut  he  left  me — he  is  dead  to  me— 1  have  disowned  him 
forever.  lie  was  a  ready  scholar,  as  you  are,  but  more  fervid 
iiinl  impatient,  and  yet  sometimes  rapt  and  self-absorbed,  like 
a  flame  fed  by  some  fitful  source;  showing  a  disposition  from 
the  very  iirst  to  turn  awav  his  eves  from  the  clear  liiihts  of 
reason  and  philosophy,  and  to  prostrate  himself  under  the  in- 
fluences of  a  din\  mysticism  which  eludes  all  rules  of  human 
duty  as"  it  eludes  all  argument.  And  so  it  ended.  We  will 
sjjcak  no  more  of  liim  :  he  is  dead  to  me.  I  wish  his  face 
could  be  blotted  from  that  world  of  memory  in  which  the  dis- 
tant seems  to  grow  clearer  and  the  near  to  fade." 

IJardo  paused,  but  neither  liomola  nor  Tito  dared  to  speak 
— ^his  voice  was  too  tremulous,  the  poise  of  his  feelings  too 
doubtful.  But  he  presently  raised  his  hand,  aiul  found  Tito's 
shoulder  to  rest  it  on,  while  he  went  on  speaking  with  an  ef^ 
fort  to  be  calmer. 

"liut  you  have  come  to  me,  Tito — not  quite  too  late.  1 
will  lose  no  moio  time  in  vain  regret.  "When  you  are  work- 
ing by  my  side  I  seem  to  have  found  a  son  again." 

Tlie  old  man,  preoccupied  with  the  governing  interest  of 
his  life,  was  only  thinking  of  the  much-meditated  book  whiclj 
had  (piite  thrust  into  the  background  (he  suggestion,  raised 
by  ]k'iiiartlo  del  Xero's  waining,  t)f  a  ])ossible  marriage  be- 
tween Tito  ami  Uomola.  But  Tito  could  not  allow  the  mo- 
ment to  |)ass  unused. 

"  Will  you  let  me  be  always  and  altogether  your  son  ? 
"Will  you  let  me  take  care  of  Koniola — be  her  husband  V  I 
think  she  will  not  deny  rae.  She  has  said  she  loves  me.  1 
know  I  am  not  ('<|ual  to  her  in  birth — in  any  thing;  but  T  am 
no  longer  a  destitute;  stranger.  ' 

"Is  it  true,  my  Romola?"  said  Bardo,  in  a  lower  tone,  an 
evident  viliration  jiassing  through  him  ainl  dissipating  the 
sadilcne*!  aspect  of  his  features. 

"Yes,  father,"  said  Bomola,  firmly.  "I  love  Tito— I  wisfi 
to  marry  him,  that  we  may  be  both  your  children  and  nevei 
part." 


ROMOLA.  123 

Tito's  liaiid  met  hers  in  a  strong  clasp  for  the  first  time 
nliile  she  was  speaking,  but  their  eyes  "were  fixed  anxiously  on 
her  fatlier. 

"  Why  should  it  not  be  ?"  said  Bardo,  as  if  arguing  against 
any  opposition  to  his  assent,  rather  than  assenting.  "  It  would 
be  a  happiness  to  me  ;  and  thou,  loo,  Komola,  Avouldst  be  the 
happier  for  it." 

He  stroked  her  long  hair  gently  and  bent  towai'ds 
her. 

"Ah,  I  have  been  apt  to  forget  that  thou  needest  some 
other  love  than  mine.  And  thou  wilt  be  a  noble  wife.  Ber- 
nardo thinks  I  shall  hardly  find  a  husband  fitting  for  thee. 
And  he  is  perhaps  right.  For  thou  art  not  like  the  herd  of 
thy  sex :  thou  art  such  a  woman  as  the  immortal  poets  had  a 
vision  of,  when  they  sang  the  lives  of  the  heroes  —  tender 
but  strong,  like  thy  voice,  which  has  been  to  me  instead  of 
the  light  iu  the  years  of  my  blindness —  And  so  thou  lovest 
him  ?" 

He  sat  upright  again  for  a  minute  and  then  said,  in  the 
same  tone  as  before,  "  Why  should  it  not  be  ?  I  will  think  of 
At;  I  will  talk  with  Bernardo." 

Tito  felt  a  disagreeable  chill  at  this  answer,  for  Bernardo 
ilel  ISTero's  eyes  had  retained  their  keen  suspicion  whenever 
Jiey  looked  at  him,  and  the  uneasy  reraembi-ance  of  Fra  Luca 
converted  all  uncertainty  into  fear. 

"  Speak  for  me,  Roniola,"  he  said,  pleadingly.  "  Messer 
Bernardo  is  sure  to  be  against  me." 

"  Xo,  Tito,"  said  Romola,  "  my  godfather  will  not  oppose 
what  my  father  firmly  wills.  And  it  is  your  will  that  I  should 
marry  Tito — is  it  not  true,  father?  Nothing  has  ever  come 
to  me  before  that  I  have  wished  for  strongly  :  I  did  not  think 
it  possible  that  I  could  care  so  much  for  any  thing  that  could 
happen  to  myself." 

It  was  a  brief  and  simple  plea;  but  it  was  the  condensed    ;    : 
story  of  Romola's  self-repressing  colorless  young  life,  which  /    I 
liad  thrown  all  its  passion  into  sympathy  with  aged  sorrows,  ■    / 
aged  ambition,  aged  pride  and  'indignation.      It  had  never  '   / 
occurred  to  Romola  that  she   should  not  speak  as  directly 
and  emphatically  of  her  love  for  Tito  as  of  any  other  sub- 
ject. 

"  Romola  mia !"  said  her  father  fondly,  pausing  on  the 
words,  "  it  is  true  thou  hast  never  urged  on  me  any  wishes  of 
thy  own.  And  I  have  no  will  to  resist  thine ;  rather,  my  heart 
met  Tito's  entreaty  at  its  very  first  utterance.  Nevertheless, 
I  must  talk  with  Bernardo  about  the  measures  needful  to  be 
observed.     For  we  must  not  act  in  haste,  or  do  any  thing  un« 


I. 


124  ItOMOLA. 

beseeming  my  name.  I  am  jioor,  ami  held  of  little  account 
by  tlio  wealthy  of  our  family — nay,  I  may  consider  myself  a 
ionely  man — Imt  I  must  nevertheless  remember  that  gener- 
ous birth  has  its  obligations.  A?id  I  would  not  Ix'  rei)r()ach- 
od  by  mv  fellow -citizens  for  rash  haste  in  bestowin<r  mv 
daughter,  liartolommeo  Scal.i  gave  Iiis  Alessandra  to  the 
Cireek  ^Nlarullo,  but  ]Marullo's  lineage  was  well  known,  and 
^^cala  himself  is  of  no  extraction.  1  know  Bernardo  will  hold 
that  we  must  take  lime:  lie  Avill,  ])erhai)S,  rejiroach  me  with 
want  of  due  forethought.  Be  patient,  my  children  :  you  aro 
very  young." 

No  more  could  be  said,  and  Komola's  heart  was  perfectly 
satisfied.  Not  so  Tito's.  If  the  subtle  mixture  of  good  and 
evil  i)re| tares  suffering  for  liuman  truth  and  purity,  there  is 
i,  also  suffering  prepared  for  the  wrong-doer  by  the  same  min- 
\  glcd  conditions.  As  Tito  kissed  Komola  on  their  i)arting 
that  evening,  the  very  strength  of  the  thrill  that  moved  his 
whole  being  at  the  sense  that  this  woman,  whose  beauty  it 
was  hardly  {)03sible  to  think  of  as  anything  but  the  necessary 
consequence  of  her  noble  nature,  loved  h'nn  with  all  the  ten- 
derness that  spoke  in  her  clear  eyes,  brought  a  strong  reac- 
tion of  regret  that  he  had  not  kept  himself  free  from  that  first 
deceit  which  had  draggeil  him  into  this  (Linger  of  being  dis- 
graced before  her.  There  was  a  spring  of  bitterness  mingling 
with  that  fountain  of  sweets.  Would  the  death  of  Fra  Luca 
arrest  it?     He  hoped  it  would. 


CHAPTER  XTTT. 

THE  SHADOW  OF  NEMESIS. 


Tt  was  the  lazv  afternooii  time  on  the  seventli  of  Sentember, 
more  than  two  months  after  the  day  on  which  Ilomola  and 
Tito  had  confessed  tlieir  love  to  each  other. 

Tito,  just  descended  into  Nello's  shop,  liad  found  the  bar- 
ber stretched  on  the  bench  with  his  cap  over  his  eyes:  one  leg 
was  drawn  up,  and  the  other  had  slipped  towards  the  ground, 
liaving  apparently  carried  with  it  a  manuscrijit  volume  of 
verse,  wliicli  lay  with  its  leaves  crushed.  In  a  corner  sat 
Sandro,  ])laying  a  game  at  tnora  by  himself,  an<l  Avatching  the 
slow  reply  of  his  left  fingers  to  the  arithmetical  demands  of  his 
right  with  solemn-eyed  interesu 

Treading  with  the  gentlest  step,  Tito  snatched  up  the  lute, 


KOSrOLA.  125 

and  bending  over  the  barber,  touched  the  strings  Ughtly  while 

he  sang, 

"Quant'  e  bella  giovinezza, 
Che  si  fiigge  tiittavia! 
Chi  vuol  esser  lieto  sia ; 
Di  donian  non  c'e  certezza."* 

Nello  was  as  easily  awaked  as  a  bird.  The  ca/p  was  off  his 
eyes  in  an  instant,  and  he  started  up. 

"  Ah,  ray  Apollino  !  I  am  somewhat  late  with  my  siesta  on 
this  hot  day,  it  seems.  That  comes  of  not  going  to  sleep  in 
the  natural  way,  but  taking  a  potion  of  potent  poesy.  Hear 
you,  how  I  am  beginning  to  match  my  words  by  the  initial 
letter,  like  a  trovatore  ?  That  is  one  of  my  bad  symptoms  :  I 
am  sorely  afraid  tliat  the  good  wine  of  my  imderstanding  is 
going  to  run  off  at  the  spigot  of  authorship,  and  I  shall  be  left 
an  empty  cask  with  an  odor  of  dregs,  like  many  another  in- 
comparable genius  of  my  acquaintance.  What  is  it,  my  Or- 
pheus?" here  Nello  stretched  out  his  arms  to  their  full  length, 
and  then  brought  them  round  till  his  hands  grasped  Tito's 
curls,  and  drew  them  out  playfully.  "  What  is  it  you  want  of 
your  well-tamed  Nello  ?  For  I  perceive  a  coaxing  sound  in 
that  soft  strain  of  yours.  Let  me  see  the  very  needle's  eye  of 
your  desire,  as  the  sublime  poet  says,  that  I  may  thread  it." 

"  That  is  but  a  tailor's  image  of  your  sublime  poet's,"  said 
Tito,  still  letting  his  fingers  fall  in  a  light  drojjping  way  on  the 
strings.  "  But  you  have  divined  the  reason  of  my  affectionate 
impatience  to  see  your  eyes  open.  I  want  you  to  give  me  an 
extra  touch  of  your  art — not  on  my  chin,  no  ;  but  on  the  zaz- 
zera,  which  is  as  tangled  as  your  Florentine  politics.  You 
have  an  adroit  way  of  inserting  your  comb,  which  flatters  the 
skin,  and  stirs  the  animal  spirits  agreeably  in  that  region  ;  and 
a  little  of  your  most  delicate  orange  scent  would  not  be  amiss, 
for  I  am  bound  to  the  Scala  palace,  and  am  to  present  myself 
in  radiant  company.  The  young  Cardinal  Giovanni  de'  Me- 
dici is  to  be  there,  and  he  brings  with  him  a  certain  young 
Bernardo  Dovizi  of  Bibbiena,whose  wit  is  so  rapid  that  I  see  no 
way  of  outri  vailing  it  save  by  the  scent  of  orange  blossoms." 

Nelio  had  already  seized  and  flourished  his  comb,  and  push, 
ed  Tito  gently  backward  into  the  chair,  wrapping  the  cloth 
round  him. 

"  Never  talk  of  rivalry,  hel  giovane  mio  :  Bernardo  Dovizi 

*  "  Beauteous  is  life  in  blossom ! 

And  it  fleeteth — fleeteth  ever; 
Whoso  would  be  joyful — let  liim ! 
There's  no  surety  for  the  morrow." 

Carnivnl  Sony  by  TM-enzo  dei  Medici. 


1  "20  UOMOLA. 

is  n  keen  yonn<XRtor,  wlio  will  novcr  onrry  a  n('t  nut  to  catch 
the  wind  ;  but  In-  lias  soiiu'lhiiiif  of  the  same  .sharp-nuizzk'd 
look  as  his  brother  Ser  Piero  da  Bibbiena,  the  weasel  that 
Piero  de'  3Iedici  kec])s  at  his  beck  to  slij)  tluouirh  small  holes 
for  him.  No  !  you  distance  all  rivals,  and  nny  soon  touch 
the  sky  villi  your  forefintjer.  They  tell  me  you  liave  even 
carried  enough  honey  with  you  to  sweeten  the  sour  Messcr 
AuLTclo  ;  for  he  has  proiionuci'd  you  less  of  an  ass  than  Tni<jht 
have  been  expected,  considerini^  there  is  such  a  good  under- 
standing  between  you  and  the  Secretary." 

"And  between  ourselves,  iV<?^/o  mio,  that  IMcsscr  Angdo 
has  more  genius  and  erudition  than  I  can  find  in  all  the  other 
Florentine  scholars  j)Ut  together.  It  may  answer  very  welt 
for  them  to  cry  me  up  now,  when  Poliziano  is  beaten  <lown 
witli  grief,  or  illness,  or  something  else  ;  I  can  tiy  a  fhght  with 
such  a  sparrow-hawk  as  Pietro  Crinito,  but  for  IVdiziano,  lie  is 
a  large-lK'aked  eagle  who  would  swallow  me,  feathers  and  all, 
and  not  feel  any  difference." 

"  I  will  not  contradict  your  modestv  there,  if  von  will  have 
it  so ;  but  you  don't  expect  us  clever  Florentines  to  keep  say- 
ing the  same  things  over  again  every  day  of  our  lives,  as  we 
must  do  if  we  always  told  the  truth.  We  cry  down  Dante, 
and  we  cry  up  Francesco  Cei,  just  for  the  sake  of  variety  ;  and 
if  we  cry  you  uj)  as  a  new  Poliziano,  Heaven  has  taken  care 
that  it  shall  not  be  quite  so  great  a  lie  as  it  might  have  been. 
And  are  you  not  a  pattern  of  virtue  in  fliis  wickt'd  city?  with 
your  ears  double  waxed  against  all  siren  invitations  that  would 
lure  you  from  the  Via  de'  Bardi,  and  the  great  work  which  is 
to  astonish  posterity  ?" 

"  Posterity  in  good  truth,  whom  it  will  probalilv  astonish 
as  the  universe  does,  by  the  impossibility  of  seeing  what  was 
the  plan  of  it." 

"  Yes,  something  like  that  was  l)eing  prophesied  here  the 
other  day.  Crisloforo  Landino  said  that  the  excellent  Bardo 
was  one  of  those  scholars  who  lie  overthrown  in  their  learning, 
like  cavaliers  in  heavy  armor,  and  then  get  angry  because  they 
are  overridden — which  jiitliy  remark,  it  seems  to  me,  Mas  not 
an  herb  out  of  his  own  garden  !  for  of  all  men,  for  feeding  one 
with  an  emj)ty  spoon  and  gagLring  one  with  vain  exjiectation 
by  long  <liscourse,  Messer  Cristoforo  is  the  pearl.  Kcco  !  you 
are  i)erfect  now."  Here  Nello  dii'W  away  the  doth.  "Im- 
possible to  aihl  a  grace  more  !  I>ut  love  is  not  always  to  be 
fed  on  learning,  eh?  I  shall  have  to  ilress  the  zazzera  for  the 
betrothal  before  long — is  it  not  true?" 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Tito,  smiling,  "  unless  Messer  Bernardo 
should  next  recommend  Bardo  to  require  that  I  should  yoke  a 


EOMOLA.  12  "7 

fion  and  a  wild  boar  to  the  car  of  the  Zecca  before  I  can  win 
my  Alcestis ;  though  I  confess  he  is  right  in  holding  me  un- 
worthy of  Romola;  sl\e  is  a  Pleiad  that  may  grow  dim  by 
marrying  any  mortal." 

''  Gnajfd,  your  modesty  is  in  the  right  place  there.  Yet 
Fate  seems  to  have  measured  and  chiselled  you  for  the  niche 
that  was  left  empty  by  the  old  man's  son,  who,  by-the-way, 
Cronaca  was  telling  me,  is  now  at  San  Marco.  Did  you 
know?" 

A  slight  electric  shock  passed  through  Tito  as  he  rose  from 
the  chair,  but  it  was  not  outwardly  perceptible,  for  he  imme- 
diately stooped  to  pick  up  the  fallen  book,  and  busied  his  fin- 
gers with  flattening  tlie  leaves,  while  he  said, 

"  No :  he  was  at  Fiesole,  I  thought.  Are  you  sure  he  is 
come  back  to  San  Marco  ?'' 

"  Cronaca  is  my  authority,"  said  Nello,  with  a  shrug.  "  I 
don't  frequent  that  sanctuary,  but  he  does.  Ah,"  he  added, 
takijig  the  bool:  from  Tito's  hands, "  my  poor  Nencia  da  Bar- 
berino  !  It  jars  your  scholarly  feelings  to  see  the  pages  dog's- 
eared.  I  was  lulled  to  sleep  by  the  well-rhymed  charms  of 
that  rustic  maiden — '  prettier  than  the  turnip  flower,' '  with  a 
check  more  savory  than  cheese.'  But  to  get  such  a  well-scent- 
ed notion  of  the  contadina  one  must  lie  on  velvet  cushions  in 
the  Via  Larga — not  go  to  look  at  the  Fierucoloni  stumping  in 
to  the  Piazza  della  Xunziata  this  evening  after  sundown." 

"  And  pray  who  ai-e  the  Fierucoloni  ?"  said  Tito,  indiffer- 
ently, settling  his  cap. 

"  The  contadine  who  come  from  the  mountains  of  Pistoia, 
and  the  Casentino,  and  Heaven  knows  where,  to  keep  their 
vigil  in  the  church  of  the  Nunziata  and  sell  their  yarn  and 
dried  mushrooms  at  the  Fierucola  (petty  fair),  as  Ave  call  it. 
They  make  a  queer  show,  with  their  paper  lanterns,  howling 
their  hymns  to  the  Virgin  on  this  eve  of  her  nativity — if  you 
had  the  leisure  to  see  them.  No  ? — well,  I  have  had  enough 
of  it  myself,  for  there  is  wild  work  in  the  Piazza.  One  may 
happen  to  get  a  stone  or  two  about  one's  ears  or  shins  without 
asking  for  it,  and  I  was  never  fond  of  that  j^ressing  attention. 
Addio." 

Tito  carried  a  little  uneasiness  with  him  on  his  visit,  which 
ended  earlier  than  he  had  expected,  the  boy-cardinal  Giovanni 
de'  Medici,  youngest  of  red-hatted  fathei'S,  who  has  since  pre- 
sented his  broad  dark  cheek  very  conspicuously  to  posterity  as 
Pope  Leo  the  Tenth,  having  been  detained  at  his  favorite  pas- 
time of  the  chase,  and  having  failed  to  appear.  It  still  wanted 
half  an  hour  of  sunset  as  he  left  the  door  of  the  Scala  palace, 
with  the  intention  of  proceeding  forthwith  to  the  Via  de' 


I2S  ROMOLA. 

Jianli,  but  Ik'  had  not  tjono  iar  wlioii,  tf»  his  asfoiiislmiont,  he 
saw  Uoinola  advaiu-iuuc  towards  liim  ahoig  the  lior^o  IMuti. 

ISlie  wore  a  thick  black  veil  and  black  mantle,  Imt  it  was 
impossible  to  mistake  her  iitxure  and  her  walk;  and  by  her 
si«^le  was  a  short,  st.out  form,  whicli  he  recognized  as  tiiat  of 
Monna  Brigida,  in  s}»ile  of  the  unusual  jdainness  of  her  attire. 
Komola  had  not  been  bred  up  to  devotional  observances,  and 
the  occasions  on  which  she  took  the  air  elsewhere  than  under 
the  loggia  on  the  root  ot  the  house  were  so  raie  and  so  much 
dwelt  on  beforehand,  because  of  Bardo's  dislike  to  be  left 
without  her,  that  Tito  felt  sure  there  miist  have  been  some 
Budden  and  urgent  ground  for  an  absence  of  whicli  he  had 
heard  nothing  the  day  before.  Slie  saw  liim  through  her  veil 
and  hastenetl  her  steps. 

"  lioniola,  has  any  thing  happened  ?''  said  Tito,  turning  to 
walk  by  he)-  side 

She  did  not  answer  at  the  first  moment,  and  Monna  lirigida 
broke  in. 

"Ah,  Messer  Tito,  you  do  well  to  turn  round,  f(»i-  avc  are  in 
haste.  And  is  it  not  «i  misfortime?  we  are  obliged  to  go 
round  by  the  walls  and  turn  up  the  Via  del  Maglio,  because 
of  the  Flcru ;  for  the  contadine  coming  in  block  up  the  way 
by  the  Nunziata,  which  would  have  taken  us  to  S.m  Marco  in 
half  the  time." 

Tito's  heart  gave  a  great  bound,  and  began  to  beat  vio- 
fentl}-. 

'-  Ikomola,"  he  said,  in  a  lower  tone,  "  are  you  going  to  San 
Marco?" 

They  were  now  out  of  the  Borgo  Pinti  and  were  under  the 
city  walls,  where  tliey  had  wide  gardens  on  their  left  hand, 
and  all  was  quiet.  IJomola  put  aside  her  veil  for  the  sake  of 
breathing  the  air,  and  ho  could  see  the  subdued  agitation  in 
lier  face. 

"  Ves,  Titomio,^''  she  said,  looking  directly  at  him  with  sad 
eyes.  "  For  the  first  time  I  am  doing  something  m\known  to 
my  fatlier.  It  comforts  me  that  I  have  met  you,  for  at  least  I 
can  tell  you.  But  if  you  are  going  to  him  it  will  be  well  for 
you  not  to  say  that  you  met  me.  He  thinks  I  am  only  gone 
to  the  ciiffUK I,  hQCMXfic  she  sent  for  me.  I  left  my  godfather 
with  him  :  Jic  knows  Avhere  I  rmi  going,  and  why.  A  on  re- 
member that  evening  wlien  my  brother's  name  was  mentioned 
and  my  fathi-r  spoke  of  him  to  you  ?" 

"  Yes,"  saitl  Tito,  in  a  low  tone.  There  was  n  strange  com- 
plication in  his  mental  state.  I  lis  heart  sank  at  the  probabil- 
ity tliat  a  great  change  was  coming  over  his  prospects,  while 
at  the  same  time  his  thoughts  were  darting  over  a  huiulied 


ROMOLA.  129 

details  of  the  course  he  avouKI  take  when  the  change  had  corae 
— and  yet  he  returned  Romohi's  gaze  with  a  hungry  sense 
that  it  uiight  be  the  last  time  she  would  ever  bend  it  on  him 
with  full,  unquestioning  confidence. 

"  The  cuglna  had  heard  that  he  was  come  back,  and  the 
evening  before — the  evening  of  San  Giovanni — as  I  afterwards 
found,"he  had  been  seen  by  our  good  Maso  near  the  door  of 
our  house ;  but  when  Maso  went  to  inquire  at  San  Marco, 
'Dino,  that  is,  my  brother  —  he  was  christened  Bernardino, 
after  our  godfather,  but  now  he  calls  himself  Fra  Luca — had 
been  taken  to  the  monastery  at  Fiesole,  because  he  was  ill. 
But  this  morning  a  message  came  to  ]\Iaso,  saying  that  he 
was  come  back  to  San  Marco,  and  Maso  went  to  him  there. 
He  is  very  ill,  and  he  has  adjured  me  to  go  and  see  hmi.  I 
can  not  refuse  it,  though  I  liold  him  guilty  ;  I  still  remember 
l)0\v  I  loved  him  when  I  was  a  little  girl,  before  I  knew  that 
he  would  forsake  my  father.  And  perhaps  he  has  some  word 
of  penitence  to  send  by  me.  It  cost  me  a  struggle  to  act  in 
opposition  to  my  father's  feeling,  which  I  have  always  held  to 
be  just.  I  am  almost  sure  you  will  think  I  have  chosen  right- 
Ij',  Tito,  because  I  have  noticed  that  your  nature  is  less  rigid 
than  mine,  ami  nothing  makes  you  angry  :  it  would  cost  you 
less  to  be  forgiving;  though,  if  you  had  seen  your  father  for- 
saken by  one  to  whom  he  had  given  his  chief  love — by  one  in 
whom  he  liad  planted  his  labor  and  his  hopes — forsaken  when 
his  need  was  becoming  greatest — even  you,  Tito,  would  find  it 
hard  to  forgive." 

Wha't  could  he  say  ?  He  was  not  equal  to  the  hypocrisy 
of  telling  Romola  that  such  offenses  ought  not  to  be  pardon- 
ed ;  and  he  had  not  the  courage  to  utter  any  words  of  dissua- 
sion. 

"  You  are  right,  my  Romola  ;  you  are  always  right,  except 
in  thinking  too  well  of  me." 

There  Avas  really  some  genuineness  in  those  last  words,  and 
Tito  looked  very  beautiful  as  he  uttered  them,  with  an  unusual 
pallor  in  his  fa(;e,  and  a  shght  quivering  of  his  lip.  Romola, 
interpreting  all  things  largely,  like  a  mind  prepossessed  with 
hiuh  belief,  had  a  tearful  bri<2;htness  in  her  eyes  as  she  looked 
at  them,  touched  with  a  keen  joy  that  he  felt  so  strongly  Avhat^ 
ever  she  felt.     But  Avithout  pausing  in  her  walk,  she  said, 

"  And  now,  Tito,  I  wish  you  to  leave  me,  for  the  cugina  and 
I  shall  be  less  noticed  if  we  enter  the  piazza  alone." 

"  Yes,  it  were  better  you  should  leave  us,"  said  Monna 
Brigida;  "for  to  say  the  truth,  Messer  Tito,  all  eyes  follow 
you,  and  let  Romola  muflle  herself  as  she  will,  every  one  wants 
to  see  what  there  is  mider  her  veil,  for  she  has  that  Avay  of 

6* 


1 30  ROMOLA, 

walkiiiLT  like  a  procession.  Not  llial  I  find  fault  with  her  for 
it,  only  it  doesn't  suit  my  steps.  Ami,  indeed,  I  would  rather 
nut  have  iis  seen  going  to  San  ^lareo,  and  tliat's  why  I  am 
dressed  as  if  I  were  one  of  \\\c  piagnoni  themselves,  and  as  old 
as  Sant'  Anna;  for  if  it  liad  been  any  body  but  jjoor  Dino, 
who  ought  to  be  forgiven  if  he's  "lying,  for  what's  the  use  of 
having  a  grudge  against  dead  people? — make  them  feel  while 
they  live,  say  I — " 

No  one  made  a  scruple  of  interrupting  Monna  Brigida,  and 
Tito,  having  just  raised  liomohi's  hand  to  his  lips,  and  said, 
"  I  understand,  I  obey  you,"  now  turned  away,  lifting  his  cap 
— a  sign  of  leverence  raixly  made  at  that  time  by  native  Flor- 
entines, ami  which  excited  liernardo  del  Nero's  contempt  for 
Tito  as  a  fawning  Greek ;  while  to  Komola,  who  loved  hom- 
age, it  gave  him  an  e.vcej^tional  grace. 

He  was  lialf  glad  of  the  dismissal,  half  disposed  to  cling  to 
Romola  to  the  last  moment  in  which  she  would  love  him  with. 
out  suspicion.  For  it  seemed  to  him  certain  that  this  brother 
would  before  all  things  want  to  know,  and  that  Komola  would 
before  all  things  confide  to  him,  what  was  her  father's  ]K)sitioi!i 
and  her  own  after  the  years  which  must  have  brought  so  much 
change.  She  would  tell  him  that  she  was  soon  to  be  publicly 
betrothed  to  a  young  scholar,  who  was  to  fill  np  the  place  left 
vacant  long  ago  by  a  wandering  son.  lie  foresaw  the  impulse 
that  would  prompt  Komola  to  dwell  on  that  prospect,  and  what 
would  follow  on  the  mention  of  the  future  husband's  name. 
Fra  Luca  would  tell  all  he  knew  and  conjectured,  and  Tito  saw 
no  possible  falsity  by  which  he  could  now  ward  off  the  worst 
consequences  of  his  former  dissimulation.  It  was  all  over 
with  his  prospects  in  Florence.  There  was  Messer  Inrnardo 
del  Nero,  who  would  be  delighted  at  seeing  cotiHnned  the  wis- 
dom of  his  advice  about  deferring  the  l)etrothal  until  Tito's 
character  and  position  had  been  established  by  a  longer  resi- 
dence ;  and  the  history  of  the  young  (Jrcek  ])rofessor,  whose 
benefactor  was  in  slavery,  would  be  the  talk  under  every  log- 
gia. For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  felt  too  fevered  and  agi- 
t:ite<l  to  trust  his  power  of  self-coininand  ;  he  gave  u]»  his  in- 
tended visit  to  IJardo,  and  walked  up  and  down  umler  the 
walls  until  the  yellow  light  in  the  west  had  quite  faded,  wher>, 
without  any  distinct  ])urpose,  he  took  the  iirst  turning,  which 
ha|)]'cn»'il  to  be  the  Via  San  Scbastiam*.  leading  him  directly  to- 
wards tlie  Piazza  di'H'  Annunziata.  He  was  at  one  of  those 
lawless  moments  which  come  to  us  all  if  we  have  no  guide  but 
desire,  and  the  pathway  where  desire  leads  us  seems  suddenly 
close<l  ;  he  was  ready  to  follow  any  beckoning  that  offered 
him  an  immediate  ])urpose. 


ROMOLA.  ?.31 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


THE    peasants'    FAIR. 


The  moving  crowd  and  the  strange  mixture  of  noises  that 
burst  on  him  at  the  entrance  of  the  piazza,  reminded  Tito  ol 
what  Xello  had  said  to  liim  about  the  Fierucoloni,  and  he 
pushed  liis  way  into  the  crowd  with  a  sort  of  pleasure  in  tlie 
hooting  and  elbowing  that  filled  the  empty  moments,  and  dull- 
ed that  calculation  of  the  future  which  had  so  new  a  dreari- 
ness for  him,  as  he  foresaw  himself  wandering  away  solitary 
in  pursuit  of  some  unknown  fortune,  that  his  thought  had  even 
glanced  towards  going  in  search  of  Baldassarre  after  all. 

At  each  of  the  opposite  inlets  he  saw  people  struggling  into 
the  piazza,  while  above  them  paper  lanterns,  held  aloft  on 
sticks,  were  wavinii;  uncertainlv  to  and  fro.  A  rude  monoto- 
nous  chant  made  a  distinctly  traceable  strand  of  noise,  across 
which  screams,  whistles,  gibing  chants  in  ]>iping  boyish  voices, 
the  beating  of  nacchere  or  drums,  and  the  ringing  of  little 
bells,  met  each  other  in  confused  din.  Every  now  and  then 
one  of  the  dim  floating  lights  disappeared  with  a  smash  from 
a  stone  lanced  more  or  less  vaguely  in  pursuit  of  mischief,  fol- 
lowed by  a  scream  and  renewed  shouts.  But  on  the  outskirts 
of  the  whirling  tumult  there  were  groups  who  were  keeping 
this  vigil  of  the  Xativity  of  the  Virgin  in  a  more  methodical 
manner  than  by  fitful  stone -tlirowing  and  gibing.  Certain 
ragged  men,  darting  a  hard,  sharp  glance  around  them  while 
their  tongues  rattled  merrily,  were  inviting  country  people  to 
game  with  them  on  fair  and  open-handed  terms  ;  two  mas- 
querading figures  on  stilts,  who  had  snatched  lanterns  from 
the  crowd,  were  swaying  the  lights  to  and  fro  in  meteoric 
fashion,  as  they  strode  hither  and  thither;  a  sage  trader  was 
doing  a  profitable  business  at  a  small  covered  stall,  in  hot  bo-- 
lingozzi,  a  favorite  farinaceous  delicacy ;  one  man  standing  on 
a  barrel,  with  his  back  firmly  planted  against  a  pillar  of  the 
loggia  in  front  of  the  Foundling  Hosjutal  {Spedale  degV  Inno- 
eentl),  was  selling  efficacious  pills,  invented  by  a  doctor  of  Sa- 
lerno, warranted  to  prevent  toothache  and  death  by  drowning  ; 
and  not  far  off,  against  another  pillar,  a  tumbler  was  showing 
off  his  tricks  on  a  small  platform  ;  while  a  handful  of  'pren- 
tices, despising  the  slack  entertainment  of  guerrilla  stone- 
throwing,  were  having  a  private  concentrated  match  of  that 


1:32  i:<>.i(ii,A. 

f.iNoiitf  Floicntiiie  8j>ort  at  the  narrow  cntrancf  of  the  \  ia 
lU;'  Fcbbrai. 

Tito,  obliged  to  make  his  way  throngli  chance  openings  in 
the  crowd,  found  liiniself  at  one  moment  close  to  the  trotting 
procession  of  bare-footed,  hard-heeled  contadine,  and  could  see 
their  sun-dried,  bronzed  faces,  and  their  strange  fragnu-ntaiy 
garb,  dim  with  hereditary  dirt,  and  of  obsolete  stuffs  and  fash- 
ions, that  make  them  look,  in  the  eyes  of  the  city  ])eople,  like 
a  ■wavworn  ancestry  returning  from  a  i)ilgriniage  on  which 
they  had  set  out  a  century  ago.  Just  then  it  was  the  hardy, 
scant-feeding  peasant-women  -from  the  mountains  of  Pistola, 
who  were  entering  with  a  year's  labor  in  a  moderate  bundle 
on  their  backs,  and  in  their  heaits  that  meagre  hope  of  good 
and  that  wide  dim  fear  of  harm,  which  were  somehow  to  be 
cared  for  by  the  Blessed  Virgin,  whose  miracidous  image, 
])ainted  by  the  angels,  was  to  have  the  curtain  drawn  away 
from  it  on  this  Eve  of  her  Nativity,  that  its  potency  might 
stream  forth  without  obstruction. 

At  another  moment  he  was  forced  away  towards  the  bound- 
ary of  the  jiiazza,  Avhere  tlie  more  stationary  cantlidates  fur  at- 
tention and  small  coin  had  judiciously  ])laced  themselves,  in 
order  to  be  safe  in  their  rear.  Among  these  Tito  recognized 
his  acquaintance  IJratti,  who  stood  with  his  l)ack  against^a 
pillar  and  his  mouth  pursed  up  in  disdainfid  silence,  eying 
every  one  who  approached  him  with  a  cold  glance  of  suj)erior- 
ity,  and  keejiing  his  hand  fast  on  a  serge  covering,  which  c<^»n- 
cealed  the  contents  of  the  basket  slung  before  him.  Mather 
surprised  at  a  deportment  so  niuisual  in  an  anxious  trader, 
Tito  went  nearer  and  saw^  two  women  go  nji  to  Jiratti's  basket 
with  a  look  of  curiosity,  whereupon  the  jieddler  dicw  the  cov- 
ering tighter,  and  lonkeil  anolhei'  way.  It  was  (piite  too  pro- 
voking, and  one  of  the  women  Avas  fain  to  ask  what  there  was 
in  his  basket  ? 

"IJefore  I  answer  that,  Momia,  I  must  know  whether  you 
mean  to  buy.  I  can't  show  such  wares  as  mine  in  this  fair 
for  every  fly  to  settle  on  and  pay  nothing.  My  goods  are  a 
little  too  choice  for  that.  liesidcs  I've  only  two  left,  and  I've 
no  mind  to  sell  them;  for  with  the  ciiances  of  the  jtestilence 
Lliat  wise  men  talk  of,  there  is  likelihood  of  their  being  worth 
theii-  weight  in  gold.     No,  no ;  andate  con  JJio.'^ 

The  two  women  looked  at  each  other. 

"And  what  may  be  the  price  V"  said  the  second. 

"Not  within  what  you  are  likely  to  have  in  vour  ))nrse, 
bnona  domia,"  said  IJratti,  in  a  <?ompassionately  su]ierciliou« 
tone.  "•  1  reconnnend  you  to  trust  in  Messer  ])omeneddio  :in<l 
the  saints ;  poor  people  can  do  no  better  for  themselves." 


ROMOLA,  133 

"  Not  so  poor  !"  said  the  second  woman,  indignantly  draw- 
ing out  her  money-bag.  "  Come,  now  !  what  do  you  say  to 
a  (jrosso  .^" 

"  I  say  you  may  get  twenty-one  quattrinl  for  it,"  said  Brat- 
ti,  coolly;  "  But  not  of  me,  for  I  haven't  got  that  small 
change." 

"  Come ;  two,  then  ?"  said  the  woman,  getting  exasperated, 
while  her  companion  looked  at  her  with  some  envy.  "  It  will 
hardly  be  above  two,  I  think." 

After  further  bidding,  and  further  mercantile  coquetry, 
Bratti  put  on  an  air  of  concession. 

''  Since  you've  set  your  mind  on  it,"  he  said,  slowly  raising 
the  cover.  "  I  should  be  loth  to  do  you  a  mischief ;  for  Maes- 
tro Gabbadeo  used  to  say,  m  hen  a  woman  sets  her  mind  on  a 
thing  and  doesn't  get  it,  she's  in  worse  danger  of  the  pesti- 
lence than  before.  Ecco !  I  have  but  two  left ;  and  let  me 
tell  you,  the  fellow  to  them  is  on  the  finger  of  Maestro  Gab- 
badeo, who  is  gone  to  Bologna — as  wise  a  doctor  as  sits  at 
any  door." 

The  precious  objects  were  two  clumsy  iron  rings,  beaten 
into  the  fashion  of  old  Iloman  rings  sucli  as  were  sometimes 
disinterred.  The  rust  on  them,  and  the  entirely  hidden  char- 
.acter  of  their  potency,  were  so  satisfactoi-y,  that  the  grossi 
were  paid  without  grumbling,  and  the  first  woman,  destitute 
of  those  handsome  coins,  succeeded  after  much  show  of  reluc- 
tance on  Bratti's  part_in  driving  a  bargain  M'ith  some  of  her 
yarn,  and  carried  off  the  remaining  ring  in  triumph.  Bratti 
covered  up  his  basket,  which  was  now  filled  with  miscellanies, 
probably  obtained  under  the  same  sort  of  circumstances  as 
the  yarn,  and  moving  fi-om  his  pillar,  came  sudd(mly  upon 
Tito,  who,  if  he  had  had  time,  would  have  chosen  to  avoid  rec- 
ognition. 

"By  the  head  of  San  Giovanni,  now,"  said  Bratti,  drawing 
Tito  back  to  the  pillar,  "  this  is  a  piece  of  luck.  For  I  was 
talking  of  you  this  morning,  Messer  Greco ;  but,  I  said,  he  is 
mounted  up  among  the  sif/nori  now — and  I'm  glad  of  it,  for  I 
was  at  the  bottom  of  his  fortune — but  I  can  rarely  get  speech 
of  him,  for  he's  not  to  be  caught  lying  on  the  stones  now — not 
le  !  But  it's  your  luck,  not  mine,  Messer  Greco,  save  and  ex- 
3ept  some  small  trifle  to  satisfy  me  for  my  trouble  in  the  trans- 
action." 

"  You  speak  in  riddles,  Bratti,"  said  Tito.  "  Remember,  I 
don't  sharpen  my  wits,  as  you  do,  by  driving  hard  bargains 
for  iron  rings:  you  must  be  plain." 

"  By  the  Holy  'Vangels  !  it  was  an  easy  bargain  I  gave  them, 
If  a  Hebrew  gets  thirty-two  p'^r  cent.,  I  hope  a  Christian  maj 


13-1  liO.MoI.A, 

get  a  little  more.  Tl  I  had  not  borne  a  conscience,  I  should 
have  Ljot  twice  the  iiKUiev  and  twice  tlie  varn.  Hut,  talkii.t' 
ot  lini^s,  it  is  your  riiii;- — that  very  riiii;  you've  Ljot  on  your 
finger — that  I  could  get  you  a  purchaser  for — ay,  and  a  })ur' 
chasvr  witli  a  dee])  money-hag." 

''Truly?"  saitl  Tito,  looking  at  his  ring,  and  listcninc:. 

"A  (Tenoese  who  is  goiuLC  straight  away  into  IIunLrarv,as 
A  understand.  He  came  and  looked  all  over  my  shop  to  soc»  it 
I  had  any  old  things  I  didn't  know  the  price  of ;  I  wanant 
you,  he  thought  1  had  a  ))uinpkiu  on  my  shoulders.  lie  had 
been  rummaging  all  the  shops  in  Florence.  And  he  had  a 
ring  on — not  like  yours,  but  something  of  the  same  fashion; 
and  as  he  was  talking  of  lings,  I  said  1  knew  a  tine  young  man, 
who  was  a  jtarticular  acipiaintance  of  mine,  who  had  a  ring  of 
that  sort.  And  he  said,  '  Who  is  he,  ])rayy  Tell  him  I'll 
give  him  his  ])rice  for  it.'  And  I  thought  of  going  after  you 
to  Nello's  to-morrow  ;  for  it's  my  opinion  C)f  you,  Messer 
Greco,  that  you're  not  one  who'd  see  the  Arno  run  broth,  and 
stand  by  without  dipping  your  linger." 

Tito  had  lost  no  word  of  Avhat  Uratti  had  said,  yet  his 
mind  ha<l  been  very  busy  all  the  while.  AVliy  should  he  keej) 
the  ring?  It  had  been  a  mere  sentiment,  a  mere  fancy, that 
had  prevented  liim  from  selling  it  with  the  other  gems;  if  he 
had  been  wiser  and  had  sold  it,  he  might  ])eiliaps  have  escaped 
that  identification  by  Fi-a  Luca.  It  Mas  true  that  it  had  been 
taken  from  Haldassarre's  finger  and  ))ut  on  his  as  soon  as  his 
young  hand  had  grown  to  the  nee(lful  si/e;  but  there  was 
really  no  valid  good  to  any  body  in  those  su])erstitious  scruples 
about  inanimate  objects.  The  ring  had  helped  towards  the 
recognition  of  him.  Tito  had  begun  to  dislike  recognition, 
which  was  a  claim  from  the  past.  This  foi-eigner's  offer,  if 
he  would  really  give  a  good  price,  was  an  op))ortunity  forget- 
ting rid  of  the  ring  witlioiit  the  trouble  of  seeking  a  pur- 
chaser. 

"  Vf)u  speak  with  your  usual  wisdom,  llratti,"  said  Tito. 
''I  have  no  ol>jection  to  hear  what  your  Genoese  will  -offer. 
But  when  and  where  shall  I  have  speech  of  him  ?" 

"  To-morrow,  at  three  hours  after  sunrise,  he  will  be  at  my 
shop,  and  if  your  wits  are  of  that  sharpness  I  have  always  taken 
them  to  be,  Messer  Greco,  you  will  ask  him  a  lieavy  price.  P'or 
he  minils  not  moiu'V  ;  it's  my  belief  he's  buying  for  sonu-body 
else,  and  not  for  himself — perhaps  for  some  great  signor." 

"SSYrt  hene^''  said  Tito.     "  I  will  be  at  your  shop  if  nothing 
hinders." 

"And  you  will  doubtless  deal  iu>bly  by  me  for  old  ac- 
:piaintance'  sake,  Messer  Greco,  eo  I  will  not  stay  to  fix  the 


RO-MOLA.  1  o5 

small  sum  you  will  give  me  in  token  of  my  service  in  the  mat- 
ter.    It  seems  to  me  a  tliousand  years  now  till  I  get  out  o£ 
the  piazza,  for  a  fair  is  a  dull,  not  to  say  a  wicked  thing,  when 
one  has  no  more  goods  to  sell." 

Tito  made  a  hasty  sign  of  assent  and  adieu,  and  moving 
away  from  the  pillar,  again  found  himself  pushed  towards  the 
middle  of  the  piazza  and  back  again,  without  the  power  of 
determining  his  own  course.  In  this  zigzag  way  he  was 
carried  along  to  the  end  of  the  piazza  opposite  the  church, 
where,  in  a  deep  recess  formed  by  an  irregularity  in  the  line 
of  houses,  an  entertainment  was  going  forward  which  seemed 
to  be  especially  attractive  to  the  crowd.  Loud  bursts  of 
laughter  interrupted  a  monologue  which  was  sometimes  slow 
and  oratorical,  at  others  rattling  and  buffoonish.  Here  a  girl 
Avas  being  pushed  forward  into  the  inner  circle  with  apparent 
reluctance,  and  tliere  a  loud  laughing  minx  was  finding  a  way 
with  her  own  elbows.  It  was  a  strange  light  that  was  spread 
over  the  [liazza.  There  were  the  pale  stars  breaking  out  above„ 
and  the  dim  waving  lanterns  below,  leaving  all  objects  indis- 
tinct except  when  they  were  seen  close  under  the  fitfully  mov- 
ing lights ,  but  in  this  recess  there  was  a  stronger  light, 
against  which  the  heads  of  the  encircling  spectators  stood  in 
dark  relief  as  Tito  was  gradually  pushed  towards  them,  while 
above  them  rose  the  head  of  a  man  wearing  a  white  mitre  with 
yellow  cabalistic  figures  upon  it. 

'•Behold,  my  children!"  Tito  heard  him  saying;  "behold 
your  opportunity  ?  neglect  not  the  holy  sacrament  of  matri- 
mony when  it  can  be  had  for  the  small  sum  of  a  white  quat- 
trino — the  cheapest  matrimony  ever  offei'ed,  and  dissolved  by 
special  bull  beforehand  at  every  man's  own  will  and  pleasure. 
Behold  the  bull !"  Here  the  speaker  held  up  a  piece  of  parch- 
ment witli  huge  seals  attached  to  it.  "  Behold  the  Indulgence 
granted  by  his  Holiness  Alexander  the  Sixth,  who,  being  new- 
ly elected  Pope  for  his  peculiar  piety,  intends  to  reform  and 
purify  the  Church,  and  wisely  begins  by  abolishing  that  priest- 
ly abuse  which  keeps  too  large  a  share  of  this  privileged  niatr:'- 
mony  to  the  clergy'and  stints  the  laity.  Spit  once,  my  sons, 
and  pay  a  white  quattrino  !  This  is  the  whole  and  sole  price 
of  the  indulgence.  The  quattrino  is  the  only  difference  the 
Holy  Father  allows  to  be  put  any  longer  between  us  and  the 
cle"gy — who  spit  and  pay  nothing." 

Tito  thought  he  knew  the  voice,  which  had  a  peculiarly 
sharp  ring,  but  the  face  was  too  much  in  shadow  from  the 
lights  behind  for  him  to  be  sure  of  the  features.  Stepping  as 
near  as  he  could,  he  saw  within  the  circle  behind  the  speaker 
an  altar-like  table  raised  on  a  small  platform,  and  covered  w'Ah 


I3tJ  UOMOLA. 

n  rod  ilrapc'vy  stitolR'(l  all  over  with  yellow  cabalistii-al  fiijnres. 
Half  a  dozen  thin  tapers  burned  at  the  back  of  tliis  table, 
whieli  had  a  conjuring  ai)i)aratus  scattered  over  it,  a  larg'j 
open  book  in  the  centre,  and  at  one  of  tlie  front  ani^les  a 
nionkev  fastened  bv  a  cord  to  a  small  rincc  and  liohJinir  a 
Hniall  taj»er,  which  in  ids  incessant  lidgety  movcnu-nts  fell 
more  or  less  aslant,  while  an  ini])isli  boy  in  a  white  surplice 
occupied  himself  chietiy  in  culHni;  the  monkey  and  ailjustiiiL': 
the  taper.  The  man  in  the  mitre  also  wore  a  surplice,  and 
over  it  a  chasuble  on  which  the  signs  of  the  zodiac  were  rude- 
ly marked  in  black  ui)on  a  yellow  grountl.  Tito  was  sure  now 
that  he  recognized  the  sliarp,  upward-tentling  angles  of  the  face 
ander  the  mitre :  it  was  that  of  ^laestro  \'aiano,  the  eerretiaio, 
from  \\  iiom  lie  had  rescued  Tessa.  l*retty  little  Tessa  !  Per« 
haps  she  too  had  come  in  among  the  troops  of  contadine/ 

''  Come,  my  maidens  !  This  is  the  time  for  the  pretty  who 
can  liave  manv  chances,  and  for  the  ill-favored  who  have  few. 
Matrimony  to  be  had  liot,  eaten,  and  done  with  as  easily  as 
hcrliyKjitzzi!  And  see  !"  here  the  conjuror  lield  u])  a  cluster 
of  tiny  bags.  "To  every  bride  I  give  a  Jirtce  with  a  secret 
in  it — the  secret  alone  worth  the  money  you  pay  for  the  matri- 
mony. The  secret  how  to — no,  no,  I  will  not  tell  you  what 
the  secret  is  about,  and  that  makes  it  adoul)le  secret.  Hang 
it  round  your  neck  if  you  like,  and  never  look  at  it;  I  don't 
say  that  will  not  be  the  best,  for  then  you  will  see  many  things 
you  don't  expect:  though  if  you  open  it  (you  may  lireak  your 
leg — t  vera),  but  you  will  know  a  secret !  Something  nobody 
knows  but  me !  And  mark — I  give  you  the  Jirrre,  I  don't 
sell  it,  as  many  another  holy  man  would  :  the  quattrino  is  for 
the  matrimony,  and  the  Jh'tve  you  get  for  nothing.  Orsit, 
f//ortn)t(tt\  come  like  dutiful  sons  of  the  Church  aiul  buy  the 
intlulgence  of  his  Holiness  Alexander  the  Sixth." 

This  buffoonery  just  fitted  the  taste  of  the  autlience  :  the 
^fierucola  was  but  a  small  occasion,  so  the  townsmen  might  be 
contented  with  jokes  that  were  rather  less  indecent  than  those 
they  were  accustomed  to  hear  at  every  carnival,  i)ut  into  easy 
rhyme  by  the  ^NfaLrnifico  and  liis  ]>oetic  salcllites;  while  the 
.vonien,  over  and  above  any  relish  of  the  lun,  really  began  to 
have  an  itch  for  the  lirevi.  Several  couples  had  already  gone 
(hrouirh  the  ceremonv,  in  Avhich  the  conjuror's  solemn  gibber- 
ish  and  grimaces  over  the  open  book,  the  antics  of  ihi!  nion- 
tey,  and  even  the  ))ri'rMninary  spitting,  had  called  forth  ))eals 
of  lauifhfcr;  and  now  .-i  well-looking,  mcM'rv-eved  youth  of 
Peventeen,  in  a  loose  tunic  and  :i  led  cap,  pushed  forward, 
holding  by  the  hand  a  plump  brunette,  whose  scanty  ragged 
dress  displayed  her  round  arms  and  legs  very  picturesquely. 


ROMOLA.  137 

"  Fetter  us  without  delay,  maestro  !"  said  the  youth,  "  for 
I  have  got  to  take  my  bride  home  and  paint  her  under  the 
light  of  a  lantern." 

"  Ha !  Mariotto,  my  son,  I  commend  your  pious  observ- 
ance  "  The  conjuror  was  going  on,  when  a  loud  chatter- 
ing behind  Avarned  him  tlmt  an  unpleasant  crisis  had  arisen 
'with  his  monkey. 

The  temper  of  that  imperfect  acolyth  Avas  a  little  tried  by 
*:he  over-active  discipline  of  his  colleague  in  the  surplice,  and 
a  sudden  cuff  administered  as  his  taper  fell  to  a  horizontal  posi= 
tion,  caused  him  to  leap  back  with  a  violence  that  proved  too 
much  for  the  slackened  knot  by  which  his  cord  was  fastened. 
His  first  leap  Avas  to  the  other  end  of  the  table,  from  Avhich 
position  his  remonstrances  were  so  threatening  that  the  imp  in 
the  surplice  took  up  a  wand  by  way  of  an  equivalent  threat, 
whereupon  the  monkey  leaped  on  to  the  head  of  a  tall  woman 
in  the  foreground,  dropping  his  taper  by  the  way,  and  chat- 
tering Avith  increased  emphasis  from  that  eminence.  Great 
Avas  the  screaming  and  confusion,  not  a  few  of  the  spectators 
having  a  vague  dread  of  the  Maestro's  monkey,  as  capable  of 
more  hidden  mischief  than  mere  teeth  and  claws  could  inflict ; 
and  the  conjuror  himself  Avas  in  some  alarm  lest  any  harm 
should  happen  to  his  familiar.  In  the  scuffle  to  seize  the  mon- 
key's string  Tito  got  out  of  the  circle,  and,  not  caring  to  con- 
tend for  his  place^  again,  he  allowed  himself  to  be  gradually 
pushed  towards  the  church  of  the  Xunziata,  and  to  enter  among 
the  worshippers. 

The  brilliant  illumination  Avithin  seemed  to  press  upon  his 
eyesAvith  palpable  force  after  the  pale  scattered  lights  and  broad 
shadoAvs  of  the  piazza,  and  for  the  first  minute  or  two  he  could 
see  nothing  distinctly.  That  yelloAV  splendor  Avas  in  itself 
something  supernal  and  heavenly  to  some  of  the  peasant-Avom- 
en,  for  Avhom  half  the  sky  Avas  hidden  by  mountains,  and  who 
went  to  bed  in  the  twilight ;  and  the  uninterrupted  chant  f '-om 
the  choir  Avas  repose  to  the  ear  after  the  hellish  hubbub  of  the 
crowd  outside.  Gradually  the  scene  became  clearer,  though 
still  there  Avas  a  thin  yellow  haze  from  incense  mingling  Avith 
,the  breath  of  the  multitude.  In  a  chapel  on  the  left  hand  of 
'  ihe  nave,  Avreathed  with  silver  lamps,  Avas  seen  unveiled  the 
miraculous  fresco  of  the  Annunciation,  Avhich,  in  Tito's  oblique 
view  of  it  from  the  right-hand  side  of  the  nave,  seemed  dark 
Avith  the  excess  of  liglit  around  it.  The  whole  area  of  the 
great  church  Avas  filled  Avith  peasant-women,  some  kneeling, 
some  standing ;  the  coarse  bronzed  skins  and  the  dingy  clotli- 
ing  of  the  rougher  dwellers  on  the  mountains  contrasting  Avitii 
the  softer-lined  faces  and  white  or  red  liead-drapery  of  tlic 


138  UOMOLA. 

Mt'll-to-do  (1\v('1Um-s  ill  tlie  valley,  who  were  scattered  in  irregu- 
lar groups.  Ami  spreading  liigli  and  far  over  tlie  walls  aiui 
ceiling  tliere  was  another  innllitude,  also  j)ressing  el<»se  against 
each  other,  that  they  might  be  nearer  the  potent  \'irgin:  it 
was  the  crowd  of  votive  waxen  images,  the  elligies  of  great 
peisonages,  dotheil  in  their  liahit  as  they  lived  :  Florentines 
of  high  name  in  their  black  silk  lucco,  as  when  they  satin  coun- 
cil ;  popes,  emperors,  kings,  cardinals,  ainl  famous  condottieri 
with  ])lumed  morion  seated  on  their  cliargers  ;  all  notable 
strangers  who  passed  through  Florence  or  had  aught  to  «lo  with 
its  affairs — Mohammedans,  even,  in  well-tolerated  companion- 
ship with  Christian  cavaliers  ;  some  of  them  with  faces  black- 
ened and  robes  tattci-ed  by  the  corroding  breath  of  centuries, 
others  fresh  and  bright  in  new  red  mantle  or  steel  corselet, 
the  exact  doubles  of  the  living.  And  wedged  in  with  all  these 
were  detached  arms,  legs,  hands,  and  other  mcjnbers,  with  only 
here  and  there  a  gap  where  soiiu-  image  had  Ijeen  removeil  lor 
jMiblic  disgrace,  or  had  fallen  ominously,  as  Lorenzo's  had  done 
six  months  before.  It  was  a  j^erfect  resurrection-swarm  of 
remote  mortals  and  fragments  of  mortals,  rejecting,  in  their 
varying  degrees  of  freshness,  the  sombre  dinginess  and  si)rin- 
kled  brightness  of  the  crowd  below. 

Tito's  glance  wanderetl  over  the  wide  multitude  in  search 
of  something.  lli^  had  already  thought  of  Tessa,  and  the 
white  hoods  suggested  the  possibility  that  he  might  detect  her 
face  under  one  of  them.  It  was  at  least  a  thovight  to  be  court- 
ed rather  than  tlie  vision  of  Itomola  looking  at  him  with 
changed  eyes.  V>\\i  he  searched  in  vain;  and  he  was  leaving 
the  church,  weary  of  a  scene  which  had  no  variety,  when,  just 
against  the  <looi-way,  he  caught  sight  of  Tessa,  onlv  two  vards 
oft"  him.  She  was  kneeling  with  her  back  against  the  wall,  be- 
hind a  group  of  peasant-women,  who  were  standing  and  look- 
ing for  a  spot  nearer  to  the  sacred  image.  Her  head  hung  n 
little  aside  with  a  look  of  Mcariness,  and  her  blue  eyes  were 
directed  rather  absently  towards  an  altiir-piece  wiiere  the  Arch- 
:mgel  ^Michael  stood  in  his  armor,  with  young  face  and  float- 
ing hair,  among  bearded  and  tonsm-ed  saints.  Her  right  liand, 
holding  a  bunch  of  cocoons,  fell  by  her  side  listlessly,  and  her 
round  cheek  was  paled,  either  by  the  light  or  by  the  weariness 
that  was  ex|>ressed  in  her  attitude  :  her  lips  were  pressed  j^out- 
iuLjIv  toiri'tlicr,  and  every  now  and  then  her  eyelids  half  fell  : 
she  was  a  laige  image  of  a  sweet  sleei)y  child,  Tito  felt  an 
irresistible  desire  to  go  up  to  her  and  get  her  pretty  trusting 
looks  and  prattle  :  this  creature,  who  was  without  moral  judg- 
nu'nts  that  could  coiidcmn  him.  whose  little  loving  ignorant 
soul  made  a  world  apart,  wheru  he  might  feel  in  freedom  from 


EOMOLA.  139 

suspicious  and  exacting  demands,  had  a  new  attraction  for 
him  now.  She  seemed  a  refusje  from  the  threatened  isohition 
that  wouhl  come  with  disgrace.  He  glanced  cautiously  round 
to  asstire  himself  tliat  Monna  Ghita  was  not  near,  and  then, 
slipping  quietly  to  her  side,  kneeled  on  one  knee,  and  said  in 
the  softest  voice,  ''Tessa  i" 

She  hardly  started,  any  more  than  she  would  have  started  at 
a  soft  breeze  that  fanned  her  gently  Avhen  she  Avas  needing  it. 
She  turned  her  head  and  saw  Tito's  face  close  to  hei-,  very 
much  more  beautiful  than  the  Archangel  Michael,  Avho  was  so 
mighty  and  so  good  that  he  lived  with  the  Madonna  and  all 
the  saints,  and  was  prayed  to  along  with  them.  She  smiled  in 
happy  silence,  for  that  nearness  of  Tito  quite  filled  her  mind. 

"  My  little  Tessa  !  you  look  very  tired.  How  long  have  you 
been  kneeling  here  ?" 

She.  seemed  to  be  collecting  her  thoughts  for  a  minute  or 
two,  and  at  last  she  said  : 

"  I'm  very  hungry." 

"  Come  then  ;  come  with  nie." 

He  lifted  her  from  her  knees,  and  led  her  out  under  the 
cloisters  surrounding  tlie  atrium,  which  were  then  opened,  and 
not  yet  adorned  with  the  frescoes  of  Andrea  del  Sarto. 

"  How  is  it  you  are  all  by  yourself,  and  so  hungry,  Tessa  ?" 

"  The  madre  is  ill ;  she  has  very  bad  pains  in  her  legs,  and 
sent  me  to  bring  these  cocoons  to  the  Santissima  Nunziata, 
because  they're  so  wonderful ;  see !" — she  held  up  the  bunch 
of  cocoons,  which  were  arranged  with  fortuitous  regularity  on 
a  stem — "  and  she  had  kept  them  to  bring  them  herself,  but 
she  couldn't,  and  so  she  sent  me  because  she  thinks  the  Holy 
Madonna  may  take  away  her  pains  ;  and  somebody  took  my 
bag  with  the  bread  and  chestnuts  in  it,  and  the  people  pushed 
me  back,  and  I  was  so  frightened  coming  in  the  crowd,  and  I 
couldn't  get  anywhere  near  the  Holy  Madonna,  to  give  the 
cocoons  to  the^paf?re,  but  I  must — oh,  I  must !" 

"  Yes,  my  little  Tessa,  you  shall  take  them  ;  but  come  first 
and  let  me  give  you  some  berlingozzi.  There  are  some  to  be 
had  not  far  off." 

"  Where  did  you  come  from  ?"  said  Tessa,  a  little  bewilder- 
ed. '^  I  thought  you  would  never  come  to  me  again,  because 
you  never  came  to  the  JNIercato  for  milk  any  more.  I  set  my- 
self Aves  to  say,  to  see  if  they  would  bring  you  back,  but  I  left 
off  because  they  didn't." 

'•  You  see  I  come  when  you  Avant  some  one  to  take  care  of 
you,  Tessa.  Perhaps  the  Aves  fetched  me,  only  it  took  them 
a  long  while.  But  what  shall  you  do  if  you  are  here  all  alone  ? 
Where  shall  you  go?" 


1 40  IJOMOI.A, 

"  Oh,  I  sliall  stay  and  sleep  in  the  clinrch — a  ijrcat  many  of 
tlieni  do — in  tliu  cluirch  and  all  alxMit  licre — I  did  once  Mhen 
I  came  witli  my  niotlier  ;  and  tlie  patriijno  is  coming  with  the 
mules  in  the  morning." 

They  were  out  in  the  piazza  now,  where  tlie  crowd  was  rath- 
er less  viotons  tlian  before,  and  the  lights  were  fewer,  the  sf  rer.m 
of  pilgrims  having  ceased.  Tessa  clung  fast  to  Tito's  arm  in 
satisfied  silence,  Avhile  he  led  her  towards  tbe  stall  where  he 
remembered  seeing  the  eatables.  Their  way  was  the  easier  be- 
cause there  was  just  now  a  great  rush  towards  tlie  middle  of 
the  piazza,  where  the  masked  figures  on  stilts  had  found  s[iace 
to  execute  a  dance.  It  was  very  pretty  to  see  the  guileless 
thing  giving  her  cocoons  into  Tito's  liaiid  and  then  eating  her 
berlliujozzl  with  the  relish  of  a  hungry  child.  Tito  had  leally 
come  to  take  care  of  her,  as  he  did  before,  and  that  wonderful 
hapi)iness  of  being  with  him  had  begun  again  for  her.  Iler 
lir.iiger  was  soon  appeased,  all  the  sooner  for  the  new  stimulus 
of  happiness  that  had  roused  her  from  her  languor  ;  and  as 
they  turned  away  from  the  stall  she  said  nothing  about  going 
into  the  church  again,  but  looked  round  as  if  thi'  sights  in  the 
piazza  were  not  without  attraction  to  hei'  now  she  was  safe 
under  Tito's  arm. 

"  How  can  they  do  that?"  she  exclaimed,  looking  up  at  the 
dancers  on  stilts.  Then,  after  a  mimite's  silence,  *'  Do  you 
think  Saint  Christo])hcr  lielps  them  ?" 

"  Perhaps.  What  do  you  think  about  it,  Tessa  ?"  said  Tito, 
slipping  his  right  arm  round  her,  and  looking  down  at  her 
fondly. 

"  Because  Saint  Christoidier  is  so  very  tall ;  and  lie  is  very 
good:  if  any  body  looks  at  him  he  takes  care  of  them  all  day. 
He  is  on  the  wall  of  the  church — too  tall  to  stand  up  theie — 
but  I  saw  him  walking  through  the  streets  one  San  tiiovanni, 
carrying  the  little  6^es«>." 

"'You  ])retty  ])igeon  !  Do  yon  think  any  body  could  help 
taking  care  of  yon,  if  you  looketl  at  them  V" 

"  Shall  you  always  come  and  take  care  of  me?"  said  Tessa, 
turning  her  face  up  to  him  as  he  crushed  her  cheek  with  his 
left  hand.     "  And  shall  you  always  be  a  long  while  first?" 

Tito  was  conscious  that  some  by-standers  were  laughing  at 
them,  and  though  the  license  of  street  fun  among  artists  and 
young  men  of  the  wealthier  sort,  as  well  as  among  the  popu- 
lace, made  few  adventures  exceptional,  still  less  disi-eputable, 
he  chosi'  to  move  away  towar<ls  the  end  of  the  piazza. 

"Perhaps  I  shall  come  again  to  yon  very  soon,  Tessa,"  he 
answere(l,  rathi'r  dreamily,  wlun  they  l.ad  move(l  away.  He 
was  thinking  that  when  all  the  rest  iia<l  tur-ied  >!ieir  1  :n-U.s  upon 


ROM  OLA.  141 

him  it  Avoiild  be  pleasant  to  have  this  little  creature  adoring 
him  and  nestling^  asrainst  him.  The  absence  of  presumptuous 
self-conceit  in  Tito  made  him  feel  all  the  more  defenseless  un- 
der prospective  obloquy :  he  needed  soft  looks  and  caresses 
too  much  ever  to  be  impudent. 

"  In  the  Mercato  ?"  said  Tessa.  "  Not  to-morrow  morning, 
because  the  patricjno  will  be  there,  and  he  is  so  cross.  Oh ! 
but  you  have  money,  and  he  will  not  be  cross  if  you  buy  some 
salad.   And  there  are  some  chestnuts.    Do  you  like  chestnuts  ?" 

He  said  nothing,  but  continued  to  look  down  at  her  with  a 
dreamy  gentleness,  and  Tessa  felt  herself  in  a  state  of  delicious 
wonder ;  every  thing  seemed  as  new  as  if  she  Avere  being  car- 
ried on  a  chariot  of  clouds. 

"  Santissbna  Vergine  P''  she  exclaimed  again,  presently ; 
"  there  is  a  holv  father  like  the  Bishop  I  saw  at  Prato." 

Tito  looked  up  too,  and  saw  that  he  had  unconsciously  ad- 
vanced to  within  a  few  yards  of  the  conjuror.  Maestro  Vaia- 
no,  who,  for  the  monient,  was  forsaken  by  tlie  crowd.  His  face 
was  turned  away  from  them,  and  he  was  occui)ied  with  the  ap- 
paratus on  his  altar  or  table,  preparing  a  new  diversion  by  the 
time  the  interest  in  the  dancing  should  be  exhausted.  The 
monkey  was  imprisoned  under  the  red  cloth,  out  of  reach  of 
mischief,  and  the  youngster  in  the  white  surplice  was  holding 
a  sort  of  dish  or  salver,  from  which  his  master  was  taking  some 
ingredient.  The  altar-like  table,  with  its  gorgeous  cloth,  the 
row  of  tapers,  the  sham  episcopal  costume,  the  surpliced  at- 
tendant, and  even  the  very  movements  of  the  mitred  figure, 
as  he  alternately  bent  his  head  and  then  raised  something  be- 
fore the  lights,  were  a  sufficiently  near  parody  of  sacred  things 
to  rouse  poor  little  Tessa's  veneration  ;  and  there  Avas  some  ad- 
ditional awe  produced  by  the  mystery  of  their  apparition  in 
this  spot,  for  when  she  had  seen  an  altar  in  the  street  before, 
it  had  been  on  Corpus  Christi  Day,  and  there  had  been  a  pro- 
cession to  account  for  it.  She  crossed  herself,  and  looked  up 
at  Tito,  but  then,  as  if  she  had  had  time  for  reflection,  said, 
"  It  is  because  of  the  jVativitd.'''' 

Meanwhile  Vaiano  had  turned  round,  raising  his  hands  to 
his  mitre  with  the  intention  of  changing  his  dress,  when  his 
^uick  eye  recognized  Tito  and  Tessa,  who  were  both  looking 
at  him,  their  faces  being  shone  upon  by  the  light  of  his  tapers 
while  his  own  was  in  shadow. 

"  Ha !  my  children  !"  he  said,  instantly,  stretching  out  his 
hands  in  a  benedicloi'v  attitude,  "  you  are  come  to  be  married. 
I  con:iraend  your  penitence — the  blessing  of  Holy  Church  can 
never  come  too  late. 

But  while  he  was-  speaking  he  had  taken  in  the  whole  raeau- 


142  i:oMOLA. 

ir.r;  of  Tessa's  attitude  and  expression,  ami  he  discerned  an  op. 
portunity  for  a  new  ki'nl  of  joku  which  required  Iriia  to  be 
cautious  and  sulciun. 

''Sliould  you  like  to  be  married  to  nie,  Tessa!"  said  Tito, 
softly,  half  enjoying  the  comedy,  as  lie  saw  the  pretty  cliildi.sh 
seriousness  on  her  face,  lialf  iirom|)ted  by  hazy  previsio:w 
which  belonged  to  the  intoxication  of  despair. 

He  felt  her  vibrating  before  she  looked  u])  at  him  and  said, 
imidly,  "Will  you  let  me V" 

lie  answered  only  by  a  smile,  and  Ijy  leading  lier  forward 
in  front  of  the  crmta/w,  who  seenig  an  excellent  jest  in  Tes- 
sa's evident  delusion,  assumed  a  sui-passing  sacerdotal  solem- 
nity, and  went  tlirough  the  mimic  ceremony  with  a  liberal  ex- 
penditure of  linf/ita  furbtsca  or  thieves'  Latin.  I>ut  some 
symptoms  of  a  new  movement  ni  the  crowd  urged  him  to  brin<' 
it  to  a  speedy  conclusion  and  dismiss  them  with  hands  out- 
stretched in  a  benedictory  attitude  over  their  kneeling  figures. 
Tito,  disposed  always  to  cultivate  good-will,  though  it  might 
be  the  least  select,  put  a  piece  of  fou.'  f/rossl  into  liis  hand  as 
he  moved  away,  and  was  thanked  by  a  look  which,  the  conjur- 
or felt  sure,  conveyed  a  perfect  understanding  of  the  whole  af- 
fair. 

But  Tito  himself  was  very  far  from  that  understanding,  and 
did  not,  in  fact,  know  whefher,  the  next  nu)ment,  he  should 
tell  Tessa  of  the  joke  and  laugh  at  her  for  a  little  ltooso,  or 
whether  he  should  let  her  delusion  last,  and  see  what  would 
come  of  it — see  what  she  would  say  and  do  next. 

"Then  you  will  not  go  away  from  me  again,"  said  Tessa, 
after  they  had  walked  a  few  stei)s,  "  and  you  will  take  me  to 
\yhere  you  live."  She  spoke  meditatively,  and  not  in  a  ques- 
tioning tone.  But  presently  slie  added,"!  must  go  back  once 
to  tlie  vnidre,  though,  to  tell  her  T  brouglit  the  cocoons,  and 
that  I'm  marrieil,  and  shall  not  go  back  again." 

Tito  felt  the  necessity  of  speaking  now;  and,  in  the  rapid 
thouirht  prompted  by  that  necessity,  lie  saw  that  l>y  undeceiv- 
ing Tessa  he  should  be  robl)ing  himself  of  some  at  least  of 
that  pretty  trustfulness  which  might,  by-and-by,  be  his  only 
haven  from  contempt.  It  would  spoil  Tessa  to  make  lier  the 
least  particle  wiser  or  more  sus))icious. 

"  \  es,  my  little  Tessa,"  he  said,  caressingly,  "you  must  go 
back  to  the  madrr :  but  you  must  not  tell  her  you  are  married 
— you  must  kee]>  that  a  secret  from  every  body;  else  some 
very  great  harm  would  happen  to  me,  and  you'would  never 
see  me  again." 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  pale  fear  in  her  face. 

"  You  must  go  l)ack  and  feed  your  goats  and  mules,  and  do 


ROMOLA.  143 

just  as  you  have  always  done  before,  and  say  no  word  to  any 
one  about  me." 

The  corners  of  her  mouth  fell  a  little. 

"And  then,  perhaps,  I  shall  come  and  take  care  of  you 
again  when  you  want  nie,  as  I  did  before.  But  you  must  do 
just  what  I  tell  you,  else  you  Mill  not  see  me  again." 

"  Yes,  I  will,  I  will,"  she  said  in  a  loud  whisper,  frightened 
at  that  blank  prospect. 

They  were  silent  a  little  while,  and  then  Tessa,  looking  at 
her  hand,  said, 

"  The  madre  wears  a  betrothal  ring.  She  went  to  church 
and  had  it  put  on,  and  then  after  that,  another  day,  she  was 
married.  And  so  did  the  cousin  Xannina.  But  then  she  mar- 
ried Gollo,"  added  the  poor  little  thing,  entangled  in  the  diffi- 
cult comparison  between  her  own  case  and  others  within  her 
experience, 

"  But  you  must  not  wear  a  betrothal  ring,  my  Tessa,  because 
no  one  must  know  you  are  married,"  said  Tito,  feeling  some 
insistance  necessary.  "  And  the  buona  fortuna  I  gave  you 
did  just  as  well  for  betrothal.  Some  people  are  betrothed 
svith  rings  and  some  are  not." 

"  Yes,  it  is  true,  they  would  see  the  ring,"  said  Tessa,  try- 
"ing  to  convince  herself  that  a  thing  she  would  like  very  mucli 
was  really  not  good  for  hei'. 

They  were  now  near  the  entrance  of  the  church  ag;  in,  and 
she  remembered  her  cocoons,  which  were  still  in  Tito'>  hand. 

"  Ah,  you  must  give  me  the  60^0,"  she  said ;  "  and  we  must 
go  in,  and  I  must  take  it  to  \\\q  ^Kidre,  and  I  must  tell  tiie  rest 
of  my  beads,  because  I  was  too  tired  before." 

"  Yes,  you  must  go  in, Tessa;  but  I  will  not  go  in.  I  must 
leave  you  now,"  said  Tito,  too  fevered  and  weary  to  re-enter 
that  stifling  heat,  and  feeling  that  this  was  the  least  difficult 
way  of  parting  with  her. 

"And  uot  come  back?  Oh,  where  do  you  go?"  Tessa's 
mind  had  never  formed  an  image  of  his  whereabout  or  his  do- 
ings when  she  did  not  see  him :  he  had  vanished,  and  her 
thought,  instead  of  following  him,  had  staid  in  the  same  spot 
where  he  was  with  her. 

"I  shall  come  back  some  time,  Tessa,"  said  Tito,  taking 
her  under  the  cloisters  to  the  door  of  the  church.  "  You  must 
not  cry — you  must  go  to  sleep  when  you  have  said  your  beads. 
And  here  is  money  to  buy  your  breakfast.  Now  kiss  me,  and 
iook  happy ;  else  I  shall  not  come  again." 

She  made  a  great  effort  over  herself  as  she  put  up  her  lips 
to  kiss  him,  and  submitted  to  be  gentlv  turned  round,  with  her 
face  towards  the  door  of  the  church.     Tito  saw  her  enter ;  and 


144  ROMOLA. 

then,  with  a  shrug  at  his  own  vcsohition,  loaned  against  a  pil- 
lar, took  off  his  caj»,  nibbed  his  hair  backward,  and  wondered 
where  Koindla  was  now,  an<l  what  slie  was  thiidviiig  of  liini. 
poor  little  Tessa  had  disappeared  behind  the  curtain  among 
the  crowtl  of  contadiu€y  but  the  love  which  formed  one  web 
witli  all  Ids  worldly  hopes — with  the  ambitions  and  j)leas»ire8 
tliat  must  make  the  solid  ]iart  of  his  days — the  love  that  was 
identitied  with  his  larger  sell  —  was  not  to  be  banished  from 
his  consciousness.  Even  to  the  man  who  presents  the  most 
elastic  resistance  to  whatever  is  imj)leasant  there  will  come 
moments  when  the  pressure  from  without  is  too  strong  for 
him,  and  he  must  feel  the  smart  and  the  bruise  in  spite  of  him- 
self. Such  a  moment  had  come  to  Tito.  There  was  no  possi- 
ble attitude  of  miml,  no  scheme  of  action,  by  which  the  ui>- 
rooting  of  all  his  newly-planted  hopes  could  be  made  otherwise 
than  painful. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE    DYING    MESSAGE. 

When  Romola  arrived  at  the  entrance  of  San  Marco  .^he 
found  one  of  the  Frati  waiting  there  in  expectation  of  her  ar- 
rival. ^Nfonna  lirigida  retired  into  tlie  adjoining  church,  and 
Koniola  was  conducted  to  the  (h)or  of  the  cliapler-house  in  the 
outer  cloister,  wlnther  the  invalid  had  been  conveyed ;  no  wom- 
an being  allowed  admission  beyond  tliis  ])recinct. 

When  the  door  opened,  the  subdued  external  light  blending 
with  that  of  two  tapers  placed  behind  a  truckle-bed  showed 
the  emaciated  face  of  Fra  Lnca,  with  the  tonsured  crown  of 
golden  hail-  above  it,  and  with  deep-sunken  hazi'l  eyes  fixed  on 
a  small  crucifix  whi(-h  he  held  l)elore  him.  He  was  prop))ed 
up  into  nearly  a  sitting  posture;  and  Komola  was  just  con- 
fscious,  as  she  threw  aside  her  veii,  that  there  was  another  monk 
standing  by  the  bed,  with  the  black  cowl  drawn  over  his  head, 
and  that  he  moved  towar<ls  the  door  as  she  entered  ;  just  con 
scions  that  in  the  background  there  was  a  crucified  form  ris- 
ing high  and  pale  on  the  frescoed  wall,  and  pale  faces  of  sor- 
row looking  out  from  it  below. 

The  next  moment  lier  eyes  met  Fra  Luca\s  as  they  looked 
tip  at  her  from  the  cru'-ifix,  and  slie  was  absorbed  in  that  pang 
of  ii'cofjnition  which  identified  this  monkish  emaciated  form 
with  the  image  of  her  fair  young  l)rother. 

"  Dino  !"  she  said,  in  a  \()ice  like  a  low  cry  of  pain.  But  she 
rlid  not  beml  towards  him  ;  she  held  herself  erect,  and  paused 


KOMOLA.  145 

sJt,  two  yards'  distance  from  him.  There  was  an  unconquerable 
repulsion  for  her  in  that  monkish  aspect;  it  seemed  to  her  the 
brand  of  the  dastardly  undutif ulness  which  had  left  her  father 
desolate — of  the  grovelling  superstition  which  could  give  such 
undutif  ulness  the  name  of  piety.  Her  father,  whose  proud  sin- 
cerity and  simplicity  of  life  had  made  him  one  of  the  few  frank 
pagans  of  his  time,*had  brought  her  up  Avith  a  silent  ignoring 
of  any  claims  the  Church  could  have  to  regulate  the  beliet 
and  action  of  beings  with  a  cultivated  reason ;  the  Church,  in 
her  mind,  belonged  to  that  actual  life  of  the  mixed  multitude 
from  which  they  had  always  lived  apart,  and  she  had  no  ideas 
that  could  render  her  brother's  course  an  object  of  any  other 
feeling  than  incurious,  indignant  contempt.  Yet  the  loving- 
ness  o^f  Romola's  soul  had  clung  to  that  image  in  the  past,  and 
while  she  stood  rigidly  aloof  there  was  a  yearning  search  in 
her  eyes  for  something  too  faintly  discernible. 

But  there  was  no  corresponding  emotion  in  the  face  of 
the  monk.  He  looked  at  the  little  sister  returned  to  him  in 
her  full  womanly  beauty,  with  the  fai'-off  gaze  of  a  revisiting 
spirit. 

"My  sister !"  he  said,  with  feeble  and  interrupted  but  yet 
distinct  utterance,  "  it  is  well  thou  hast  not  longer  delayed  to 
come,  for  I  have  a  message  to  deliver  to  thee,  and  my  time  is 
short." 

Romola  took  a  step  nearer  :  the  message,  she  thought,  would 
be  one  of  affectionate  penitence  to  her  father,  and  her  heart 
began  to  open.  Nothing  could  wipe  out  the  long  years  of  de- 
sertion ;  but  the  culprit,  looking  back  on  those  years  with  the 
sense  of  irremediable  wrong  committed,  would  call  forth  pity. 
Now,  at  the  last,  there  would  be  understanding  and  forgiveness. 
Dino  would  pour  out  some  natural  filial  feeling  ;  he  would  ask 
questions  about  his  fathei''s  blindness — how  rapidly  it  had 
come  on  ?  how  the  long  dark  days  had  been  filled  ?  what  the 
life  was  now  in  the  home  where  he  himself  had  been  nourish- 
ed ? — and  the  last  message  from  the  dying  lips  would  be  one 
of  tenderness  and  regret. 

"  Romola,"  Fra  Luca  began  again,  "  I  have  had  a  vision 
concerning  thee.  Thrice  I  have  had  it  in  the  last  two  months  : 
each  timeit  has  been  clearer.  Thei-efore  I  came  from  Fiesole, 
deeming  it  a  message  from  heaven  that  I  was  bound  to  deliver. 
And  I  gather  a  promise  of  mercy  to  thee  in  this,  that  my  breath 
is  preserved  in  order  to — " 

The  difficult  breathing  which  continually  interrupted  him 
would  not  let  him  finish  the  sentence. 

Romola  had  felt  her  heart  chilling  again.  It  was  a  vision, 
then,  this  message — one  of  those  visions  she  had  so  often  heard 


1  tfi  ROMULA. 

lior  iatlicr  allndo  to  with  bitterness.     Her  indignatiun  rushed 
to  luT  lips. 

"Diiiu,  I  tlioiiLjlit  you  had  some  words  to  scml  to  my  f;v 
ther.  You  forsook  l)ini  "wlieu  liis  sight  was  failing  ;  you  made 
his  life  very  desolate.  Have  you  never  cared  about  that  ?  never 
rej)«.'nted?  AVhat  is  this  religion  of  yours, that  i)laces  visions 
behjrc  natural  duties?" 

The  deej)-sunken  liazel  eyes  turned  slowly  towards  her,  and 
\rested  upon  her  in  silence  for  some  moments,  as  if  he  were 
meditating  whether  he  shotild  answer  her. 

"  No,"  he  said  at  last — speaking,  as  before,  in  a  low  ])assion- 
less  tone,  as  if  his  voice  were  that  of  some  spirit  not  human, 
speaking  through  dying  human  organs.  "No;  T  have  never 
repented  llueingfrom  the  stilling  ]»uison-breath  of  sin  that  Avas 
hot  and  thick  around  me,  and  threatened  to  steal  over  my 
senses  like  besotting  wine.  ISIv  fatlier  could  not  hear  the 
voice  that  called  me  night  and  day;  he  knew  nothing  of  the 
demon-tenijjters  that  trie<l  to  drag  me  back  from  following  it. 
My  father  has  lived  amidst  human  sin  and  misery  without  be- 
lieving in  tlu'in  :  he  has  l)ccn  like  one  busy  picking  shining 
stones  in  a  mine,  while  there  was  a  world  dying  of  })lague 
above  him.  I  sjxike, but  he  listened  with  scorn.  I  told  him 
the  studies  he  wished  me  to  live  for  were  either  childish  tri- 
fling— dead  toys — or  else  they  innst  be  made  warm  and  living 
l;y  ])ulses  that  beat  to  world  ambitions  and  ileshly  lusts  :  for 
Avorldly  ambitions  and  fleshly  lusts  made  all  the  substance  of 
the  poetry  and  history  he  wanted  me  to  bend  my  eyes  on  con- 
tinually." 

"J  las  not  my  father  led  a  pure  and  noble  life,  then?"  Ro- 
mola  burst  forth,  unable  to  hear  in  silence  this  implied  accu- 
sation against  her  father.  "  Hi-  lias  sought  no  worldly  honors; 
he  has  been  trutliful ;  he  lias  denied  himself  all  luxuries;  he 
lias  lived  like  one  of  the  ancient  sages.  He  never  wished 
you  to  live  for  worldly  ambitions  and  fleshly  lusts  ;  he  wish- 
ed you  to  live  as  he  himself  has  done,  according  to  the  purest 
ma.xims  of  j)hilosophy,  in  which  he  b<-ought  you  up." 

Komola  spoke  partly  by  rote, as  all  ardent  and  sym]tathetic 
young  cieatures  do;  but  she  sjiolce  with  inlense  belief.  The 
pink  llu>h  was  in  her  face,  and  she  (juivered  from  head  to  foot. 
Her  brother  was  again  slow  to  answer,  looking  at  her  passion- 
ate face  with  strange  ])assionless  eyes. 

"What  were  the  maxims  of  )ihiloso|>hy  to  me?  Tiiey  told 
me  to  be  strong,  when  I  felt  myself  weak  ;  when  I  was  ready, 
like  the  blessed  Saint  Benedict,  to  roll  myself  among  thoiiis, 
and  court  smarting  wounds  as  a  deliverance  from  temptation. 
For  tne  Divine  love  had  sought  me,  and  penetrated  me,  and 


ROMOLA.  147 

created  a  great  need  in  me ;  like  a  seed  that  wants  room  to 
grow.  I  had  been  brought  up  in  carelessness  of  the  true  faith  ; 
I  had  not  studied  the  doctrines  of  our  religion  ;  but  it  seemed 
to  take  possession  of  me  like  a  rising  flood.  I  felt  that  there 
was  a  life  of  perfect  love  and  purity  for  the  soul,  in  which  there 
would  be  no  uneasy  hunger  after  pleasure,  no  tormenting  ques- 
tions, no  fear  of  suffering.  Before  I  knew  the  history  of  the 
saints  I  had  a  foreshadowing  of  their  ecstasy.  For  the  same 
truth  had  penetrated  even  into  pagan  philosophy  ;  that  it  is  a 
bliss  within  the  reach  of  man  to  die  to  mortal  needs,  and  live  in 
the  life  of  (.lod  as  the  Unseen  Perfectness.  But  to  attain  that 
I  must  forsake  the  world  ;  I  must  have  no  affection,  no  hope, 
that  wedded  me  to  that  which  passeth  away  ;  I  must  live  with 
my  fellow-beings  only  as  human  souls  related  to  the  eternal 
unseen  life.  That  need  was  urging  me  continually ;  it  came 
over  me  in  visions  when  my  mind  fell  away  weary  from  the 
vain  words  which  record  the  passions  of  dead  men;  it  came 
over  me  after  I  had  been  tempted  into  sin,  and  turned  away 
with  loathing  from  the  scent  of  the  emptied  cup.  And  in 
visions  I  saw  the  meaning  of  the  Crucifix." 

He  paused,  breathing  hard  for  a  minute  or  two ;  but 
Romola  was  not  prompted  to  speak  again.  It  was  useless 
for  her  mind  to  attempt  any  contact  with  the  mind  of  this  un- 
earthly brother :  as  useless  as  for  her  hand  to  try  and  grasp 
a  shadow.  He  went  on  as  soon  as  his  heaving  chest  was 
quieter. 

"  I  felt  Avliom  I  must  follow  :  but  I  saw  that  even  among 
the  servants  of  the  Cross  who  professed  to  liave  renounced  the 
world,  my  soul  would  be  stifled  with  the  fumes  of  hypocrisy 
and  lust  and  pride.  God  had  not  chosen  me,  as  he  chose 
Saint  Dominic  and  Saint  Francis,  to  wrestle  with  evil  in  the 
Church  and  in  the  world.  He  called  upon  me  to  flee:  I  took 
the  sacred  vows  and  I  fled — fled  to  lands  where  danger  and 
scorn  and  want  bore  me  continually,  like  angels,  to  repose  on 
the  bosom  of  God.  I  have  liA'ed  the  life  of  a  hermit ;  I  have 
ministered  to  pilgrims :  but  my  task  has  been  short ;  the  veil 
has  worn  very  thin  that  divides  me  from  my  everlasting  rest. 
I  came  back  to  Florence  that — " 

"  DiuQ,  you  did  want  to  know  if  my  father  was  alive,"  in- 
terrupted Romola,  the  picture  of  that  suffering  life  toucliing 
her  again  with  the  desire  for  union  and  forgiveness. 

"  — that  before  I  die  I  might  ui'ge  others  of  our  brethren 
to  study  the  Eastern  tongues,  as  I  had  not  done,  and  go  out  to 
greater  ends  than  I  did,  and  I  find  them  already  bent  on  tlie 
work.  And  since  I  came,  Romola,  I  have  felt  that  I  was  sent 
partly  to  thee — not  to  renew  the  bonds  of  earthly  affection,  but 


148  liOMULA. 

to  deliver  tljc  lic.iveiily  warning  conveyed  in  :i  vision.  For  1 
li:ive  liad  thiil  vision  llirice.  And  through  all  the  years  since 
fust  the  Divine  voice  called  nie,  while  1  was  yet  in  the  world, 
I  have  been  taught  and  guided  by  visions.  For  in  the  painful 
linking  together  of  our  waking  thoughts  we  i-an  never  be  sure 
that  we  have  not  mingled  our  own  error  with  the  light  we 
have  i)raycd  for;  but  in  visions  and  dreams  we  are  jtassive, 
and  our  souls  are  as  an  instrument  in  the  Divine  hand.  Tliere- 
fore  listen,  and  sjjcak  not  again — for  the  time  is  short." 

Ivomola's  mind  recoiled  strongly  fi-om  listening  to  this  vis- 
ion. Her  indignation  had  subsided,  but  it  was  only  because 
she  had  felt  the  distance  between  her  brother  and  herself 
widening.  I5ut  while  Fra  Luca  was  speaking  the  ligure  of  an- 
other monk  had  entered,  anil  again  stood  on  the  other  side  of 
the  bed,  with  the  cowl  drawn  over  his  liead. 

"Kneel,  my  daughter,  for  the  Angel  of  Death  is  present, 
and  waits  while  the  message  of  Heaven  is  delivered  :  bend  thy 
pride  before  it  is  bent  for  thee  by  a  yoke  of  iron,"  said  a  strong 
rich  voice,  startlingly  in  contrast  with  Fra  Luca's.  The  tone 
was  not  that  of  imperious  command,  but  of  quiet  self-posses- 
sion and  assurance  of  the  right,  blended  with  benignity, 
liomola,  vibrating  to  the  sound,  looked  round  at  the  figure  on 
the  oj)posite  side  of  the  bed.  His  face  was  hardly  discernible 
under  the  shadow  of  the  cowl,  and. her  eyes  fell  at  once  on  his 
hands,  which  were  folded  across  his  breast  and  lay  in  relief  on 
the  edge  of  his  black  mantle.  They  had  a  marked  physiogno- 
my which  enforced  the  intluence  of  the  voice:  they  were  very 
beautiful  and  almost  of  transparent  delicacy,  liomola's  dis- 
l)osition  to  rebel  against  command,  doubly  active  in  the  pres- 
ence of  monks,  whom  she  had  been  taught  to  despise,  Mould 
have  fixed  itself  on  any  repulsive  detail  as  a  point  of  supjjort. 
IJut  the  face  was  liidden,  and  the  hands  seemed  to  have  an  ap- 
peal in  them  against  all  hardness.  The  next  moment  the  right 
hanil  took  the  crucifix  to  relievo  the  fatigued  grasp  of  Fra 
Luca,  and  the  left  touched  his  lips  witii  a  wet  sponge  which 
lay  near.  In  the  act  of  bending  the  cowl  was  pushed  back, 
and  the  features  of  the  monk  had  the  full  light  of  the  tapers 
on  them.  They  were  very  marked  features,  such  as  lend 
themselves  to  popidar  descrii)ti()n.  There  was  the  high  arch- 
ed n<»se,  the  prominent  under  lip,  the  coronet  of  thick  dark 
hair  above  the  brow,  all  seeming  to  tell  of  energy  and  j.as- 
sion;  there  were  the  blue-gray  eyes,  shining  mildly  mider 
auburn  eyelashes,  sceming,dike  the  hands,  to  tell  of  acute  sen- 
sitiveness. Romola  felt  certain  they  were  the  features  of  Fra 
(iirolamo  Savonarola,  tho  jtrior  of  8an  Marco,  whom  she  had 
-chiefiy  thought  of  as  more  offensive  than  other  monks,  be 


ROMOLA.  149 

cause  he  was  more  noisy.  Her  rebellion  was  rising  against 
the  first  impression,  which  had  almost  forced  her  to  bend  her 
knees. 

"  Kneel,  my  danghtei-,"  the  penetrating  voice  said  again ; 
"  the  pride  of  the  body  is  a  barriei-  against  the  gifts  that  puri- 
fy the  soul." 

He  was  looking  at  her  with  mild  fixedness  while  he  spoke, 
and  again  she  felt  that  subtle  mysterious  influence  of  a  person- 
ality by  which  it  has  been  given  to  some  rare  men  to  move 
their  fellows. 

Slowly  Romola  fell  on  her  knees,  and  in  the  very  act  a  tre- 
mor came  over  her;  in  the  renunciation  of  her  proud  erect- 
ness,  her  mental  attitude  seemed  changed,  and  she  found  her- 
self in  a  new  state  of  passiveness.  Her  brother  began  to  speak 
again. 

"  Romola,  in  the  deep  night,  as  I  lay  awake,  I  saw  my  fa- 
ther's room — the  library — with  all  the  books  and  the  marbles 
and  the  leggio,  where  I  used  to  stand  and  read  ;  and  I  saw  you 
— you  were  revealed  to  me  as  I  see  you  now,  pale,  with  long 
hair,  sitting  before  my  father's  chaii-.  And  at  the  leggio  stood 
a  man  whose  face  I  could  not  see — I  looked,  and  looked,  and 
it  was  a  blank  to  me,  even  as  a  painting  effaced ;  and  I  saw 
him  move  and  take  thee,  Romola,  by  the  hand ;  and  then  I 
saw  thee  take  my  father  by  the  hand,  and  you  went  all  three 
down  the  stone  steps  into  the  streets,  the  man  whose  face  was 
a  blank  to  me  leading  the  way.  And  you  stood  at  the  altar  in 
Santa  Croce,  and  the  priest  who  married  you  had  the  face  of 
death ;  and  the  graves  opened,  and  the  dead  in  their  shrouds 
rose  and  followed  you  like  a  bridal  train.  And  you  passed  on 
through  the  streets  and  the  gates  into  the  valley,  and  it  seem- 
ed to  me  that  he  who  led  you  hurried  you  more  than  you  could 
bear,  and  the  dead  were  weary  of  following  you,  and  turned 
back  to  their  graves.  And  at  last  you  came  to  a  stony  place 
•where  there  was  no  water,  and  no  trees  or  herbage ;  but  in- 
stead of  water,  I  saw  written  parchment  unrolling  itself  every- 
where, and  instead  of  trees  and  herbage  I  saw  men  of  bronze 
and  marble  springing  up  and  crowding  round  you  ;  and  my 
father  was  faint  for  want  of  water  and  fell  to  the  ground  ;  and 
the  man  whose  face  was  a  blank  loosed  thy  hand  and  depart- 
ed ;  and  as  he  went  I  could  see  his  face ;  and  it  was  the  face 
of  the  Great  Tempter.  And  thou,  Romola,  didst  wring  thy 
hands  and  seek  for  water,  and  there  was  none.  And  the 
bronze  and  marble  figures  seemed  to  mock  thee  and  hold  out 
cups  of  water,  and  when  thou  didst  grasp  them  and  put  them 
to  my  father's  lips  they  turned  to  parchment.  And  the  bronze 
and  marble  figures  seemed  to  turn  into  demons  and  snatch  mj 


150  KOMOLA. 

fiitlior's  body  from  ihcc,  and  the  parclnncnts  shrivelled  up,  and 
blood  ran  everywhere  instead  of  them,  and  fire  uj)on  the  blood, 
till  tlu'V  all  vanished  and  the  jtlain  was  bare  and  stony  airain, 
anil  thou  wast  alone  in  the  midst  of  it.  And  then  it  seemed 
that  the  night  fell  and  I  saw  no  more. . . .  Thrice  I  have  had 
that  vision,  Komola.  I  believe  it  is  a  revelation  meant  for 
thee — to  warn  thee  auainst  marriaije  as  a  tem))talion  of  Uie 
enemy — it  calls  ui)on  thee  to  di-dicate  thyself — " 

I  lis  pauses  had  gradually  become  longer  and  more  frequent, 
and  he  was  now  comj)elk'd  to  cease  by  a  severe  fit  of  gasping, 
in  which  his  eyes  were  turned  on  the  crucifix  as  on  a  light  that 
was  vanishing.  Presently  he  found  strength  to  speak  again, 
but  in  a  feebler,  scarcely  audible  tone. 

"To  renounce  the  vain  ])hilosophy  and  cori-ujit  thoughts  of 
the  heathens:  for  in  the  hour  of  sorrow  and  death  their  pride 
will  turn  to  mockery,  and  the  unclean  gods  will — " 

The  words  died  away. 

In  s])ite  of  the  thought  that  was  at  woik  in  IJomola,  telling 
her  that  this  vision  was  no  more  than  a  dream,  fed  by  youth- 
ful memories  and  ideal  convictions,  a  strange  awe  bati  come 
over  lier.  Iler  mind  was  not  apt  to  be  assailed  \)v  sicklv  fan- 
cies ;  shchad  the  vivid  intellect  and  the  healthy  human  passion, 
which  are  too  keenly  alive  to  the  constant  relations  of  things 
to  ha\-e  any  morbid  craving  after  the  exceptional.  Still  tlic 
images  of  the  vision  she  dcs])ised  jarred  and  distressed  her 
like  painful  and  cruel  cries.  And  it  was  the  first  time  she  had 
witnessed  the  struggle  with  approaching  death  :  her  young  life 
had  b(K'n  sombre,  but  she  had  known  nothing  of  the  utmost 
human  needs;  no  acute  suffering — no  heart-cutting  sorrow; 
and  this  brother,  come  back  to  her  in  his  hour  of  supreme 
agony,  was  like  a  sudden  awful  apparition  from  an  invisible 
world.  The  pale  faces  of  sorrow  in  the  fresco  on  the  ojiposito 
wall  seemed  to  have  come  nearer,  and  to  make  one  comjiany 
with  the  ])ale  face  on  the  bed. 

"  Krate,"  said  the  dying  voice. 

Fra  (yirolamo  leaned  tlown.  Jiut  no  other  word,  came  for 
some  moments. 

"  Komola,"  it  said  next. 

She  leaned  forward  too:  but  again  there  was  silence.  Tlie 
words  were  struggling  in  vain. 

"  Fra  (iirolamo,  give  lier — " 

"  The  crucilix,'"  said  (he  voice  of  Fra  Glrolamo. 

No  other  sound  came  from  the  dying  li])s. 

"Dino  !"  said  Komola,  with  a  low  but  i)iercing  cry,  as  the 
certainty  came  upon  Iter  that  the  silence  of  misunderstanding 
could  never  be  broken. 


ROMOLA.  151 

**  Take  the  crucifix,  my  daugliter,"  said  Fra  Girolamo,  after 
a  few  minutes.     "  His  eyes  behold  it  no  more." 

Romola  stretched  out  lier  hand  to  the  crucifix,  and  this 
act  appeared  to  relieve  the  tension  of  her  mind.  A  great  sob 
burst  from  her.  She  bowed  her  head  by  the  side  of  her  dead 
brother,  and  wept  aloud.  It  seemed  to  her  as  if  this  first  vis- 
ion of  death  must  alter  the  daylight  for  her  for  evermore. 

Fra  Girolamo  moved  towai"ds  the  door,  and  called  in  a  fra 
converso  who  was  waiting  outside.  Then  he  went  up  to  Ko- 
juola,  and  said  in  a  tone  of  gentle  command,  "  Rise,  my  daugh- 
tei',  and  be  comforted.  Our  brother  is  witli  the  blessed.  He 
has  left  you  the  crucifix  in  remembrance  of  heavenly  warning 
- — that  it  may  be  a  beacon  to  vou  in  the  darkness." 

She  rose  from  her  Tvnees,  trembling,  folded  her  veil  over 
her  head,  and  hid  the  crucifix  under  her  mantle.  Fra  Giro- 
lamo then  led  the  way  out  into  the  cloistered  court,  lit  now 
only  by  the  stars  and  by  a  lantern  which  was  held  by  some 
one  near  the  entrance.  Several  other  figures  in  the  dress  of 
the  dignified  laity  were  grouped  about  the  same  spot.  They 
were  some  of  the  numerous  frequenters  of  San  Marco,  who 
had  come  to  visit  the  Prior,  and  having  heard  that  he  was  in 
attendance  on  the  dying  brother  in  the  chapter-house  had 
awaited  him  here. 

Romola  was  dimly  conscious  of  footsteps  and  rustling 
forms  moving  aside :  she  heard  the  voice  of  Fra  Girolamo, 
saying,  in  a  low  tone,  "  Our  brother  is  departed  ;"  she  felt  a 
hand  laid  on  her  arm.  The  next  moment  the  door  was  open- 
ed, and  she  was  out  in  the  wide  piazza  of  San  IVIarco,  \v\i\\  no 
one  but  Monna  Brigida  and  the  servant  carrying  the  lantern. 

The  fresh  sense  of  space  revived  her,  and  helped  her  to  re- 
cover her  self-mastery.  The  scene  which  had  just  closed  upon 
her  was  terribly  distinct  and  vivid,  but  it  began  to  narrow  un- 
der the  returning  impressions  of  the  life  that  lay  outside  it. 
She  hastened  her  steps  with  nervous  anxiety  to  be  again  with 
her  father — and  with  Tito — for  were  they  not  together  in  her 
absence?  The  images  of  that  vision,  while  they  clung  about 
her  like  a  hideous  dream  not  yet  to  be  shaken  off,  made  her 
yearn  all  the  more  for  the  beloved  faces  and  voices  that  would 
assure  her  of  her  waking  life. 

Tito,  we  know,  was  not  with  Bardo  ;  his  destiny  was  being 
shaped  by  a  guilty  consciousness,  urging  on  him  the  despair- 
ing belief  that  by  this  time  Romola  possessed  the  knowledge 
which  would  lead  to  tlieir  final  separation. 

And  the  lips  that  could  have  conveyed  that  knowledge  Avere 
forever  closed.  The  prevision  that  Fra  Luca's  Avords  had  im- 
parted to  Romola  had  been  such  as  comes  from  the  shadowy 


152  KO.MoI-A. 


r<'L?i')n  wliere  liunirui  souls  seek  Avisilom  apart  from  tlio  human 
.sviii|tatirn's  wliicli  arc  tlif  very  life  and  substance  of  our  wis- 
dom ;  the  revelation  that  mis^dit  have  cume  from  the  simple 
questions  of  filial  and  brotherly  affection  had  been  carried 
into  irrevocable  silence. 


CUMBER  XVI. 

A  FLORENTINE  JOKE. 

Early  the  next  morning  Tito  was  returning  from  Bratti's 
shop  in  the  narrow  thoroughfare  of  the  I'\'rraveeelij.  The- 
Genoese  stranger  had  carried  awaj;  the  onyx  ring,  and  Tito 
was  carrying  away  fifty  florins.  I^  did  just  cross  his  miml 
that  if,  after  all,  Fortune,  by  one  of  her  able  devices,  saved  him 
from  the  necessity  of  (juitling  Florence,  it  would  be  better  for 
him  not  to  have  parted  with  iiis  ring,  since  he  had  been  under- 
stood to  wear  it  for  the  sake  of  peculiar  memoi-ies  ;ii.d  predi- 
lections; still  it  was  a  sliglit  matter,  not  worth  dwelling  on 
with  any  emphasis,  and  in  those  moments  he  had  1<»  I  his  con- 
fidence in  fortune.  The  feverish  excitement  of  the  first  alarm 
which  had  imj)elled  his  mind  to  travel  into  the  future  had 
given  place  to  a  dull,  regretful  lassitude.  He  cared  so  much 
for  the  ))leasures  that  could  only  come  to  him  through  the 
good  opinion  of  his  fellow-men,  tliat  he  wished  now  he  liad 
never  risked  ignominy  by  shrinking  from  what  his  fellow-men 
called  obligations.  But  our  deeils  are  like  chiKlren  th;it  are 
born  to  us ;  they  live  and  act  apart  from  our  own  will.  Nay, 
vhildren  may  be  strangled,  but  deeds  never;  they  have  an  in- 
destructible life  both  in  and  out  of  our  consciousness  ;  and 
that  dreadful  vitality  of  deeds  was  pressing  hard  on  Tito  for 
the  first  time. 

lie  was  going  back  to  his  lodgings  in  the  T'ia/.za  di  San 
Giovamii,  but  he  avoided  i)assing  through  the  ]\Iercalo  Vec- 
chio,  which  was  his  nearest  way,  lest  he  should  see  Tessa,  lie 
was  not  in  the  humor  to  seek  any  thing ;  he  could  only  await 
the  first  sign  of  his  altering  lot. 

The  piazza  with  its  sights  of  beauty  was  lit  up  \>\  that 
ivarm  morning  sunlight  under  which  the  autumn  dew  still  lin- 
gers, and  whicli  invites  to  an  idlessc  undulled  by  fatigue.  It 
was  a  festival  morning  too,  when  the  soft  warmth  seems  to 
steal  over  one  with  a  special  invitation  to  lounge  and  gaze. 
The  signs  of  the  fair  were  present  here  too  ;  in  the  sjjaces 
round  the  octagonal  ])aptistery  stalls  were  being  spread  with 
fruit  and  flowers,  and  here  and  there  laden  mules  were  stand- 


ROMOLA.  153 

ing  quietly  absorbed  in  their  nose-bags,  while  their  drivers 
were  perhaps  gone  thi-ough  the  hospitable  sacred  doors  to 
kneel  before  the  Blessed  Virgin  on  this  morning  of  her  Nativ- 
ity. On  the  broad  marble  steps  of  the  Duomo  there  were 
scattered  groups  of  beggars  and  gossiping  talkers ;  here  an 
old  crone  with  white  hair  and  hard  sunburned  face  encourag- 
ing a  round-capped  bal>y  to  try  its  tiny  bare  feet  on  the  warm 
marble,  while  a  dog  sitting  near  snuffed  at  the  performance 
suspiciously ;  there  a  couple  of  shaggy-headed  boys  leaning 
to  watch  a  small  pale  cripple  who  was  cutting  a  face  on  a 
cherry-stone ;  and  above  them  on  the  wide  platform  men 
were  making  changing  knots  in  laughing  desultory  chat,  or  else 
were  standing  in  close  couples  gesticulating  eagerly. 

But  the  largest  and  most  important  company  of  loungers 
Avas  that  towaixls  which  Tito  had  to  direct  his  steps.  It  was 
the  busiest  time  of  the  day  with  Nello,  and  in  this  warm  sea- 
son and  at  an  hour  when  clients  were  numerous,  most  men 
preferred  being  shaved  under  the  pretty  red  and  white  awn- 
ing in  front  of  the  shop  rather  than  within  narrow  walls.  It 
is  not  a  sublime  attitude  for  a  man  to  sit  with  lathered  chin 
thrown  backward,  and  have  his  nose  made  a  handle  of ;  but 
to  be  shaved  was  a  fashion  of  Florentine  respectability,  and  it 
is  astonishing  how  gravely  men  look  at  each  other  when  they 
are  all  in  the  fashion.  It  was  the  hour  of  the  day  too  when 
yesterday's  crop  of  gossip  was  freshest,  and  the  barber's  tongue 
was  always  in  its  glory  when  liis  razor  was  busy ;  the  deft  ac- 
tivity of  those  two  instruments  seemed  to  be  set  going  by  a 
common  spring.  Tito  foresaw  that  it  would  be  impossible 
for  him  to  escape  being  drawn  into  the  circle ;  he  must  smile 
and  retort,  and  look  perfectly  at  his  ease.  Well !  it  was  but 
the  ordeal  of  swallowing  bread  and  cheese  pills  after  all.  The 
man  who  let  the  mere  anticipation  of  discovery  choke  him  was 
simply  a  man  of  weak  nerves.  But  just  at  that  time  Tito  felt 
a  hand  laid  on  his  shoulder,  and  no  amount  of  previous  resolu- 
tion could  prevent  the  very  unpleasant  sensation  with  which  . 
that  sudden  touch  jarred  him.  His  face,  as  he  turned  it  round, 
betrayed  the  inward  shock ;  but  the  owner  of  the  hand  that 
seemed  to  have  such  evil  magic  in  it  broke  into  a  lio-ht  lausrh. 
He  was  a  young  man  about  Tito's  own  age,  with  keen  features, 
small,  close-clipped  head,  and  close-shaven  lip  and  chin,  giving 
the  idea  of  a  mind  as  little  encumbered  as  possible  with  ma- 
terial that  was  not  nervous.  The  keen  eves  were  brio-ht  with 
hope  and  friendliness,  as  so  many  other  young  eyes  have  been 
that  have  afterwards  closed  on  the  world  in  bitterness  and  dis- 
appointment ;  for  at  that  time  there  were  none  but  pleasant 
oredictions  about  Niccolo  Macchiavelli,  as    a  vouusr   man  of 


154  ROMOIA. 

promise,  who  was  expected  to  incml  the  broken  fortunes  of 
ills  ancient  family. 

"  Wliv,  Mc'Icnia,  wliat  evil  ilream  did  you  liavi'  last  nicfht 
that  vuu  look  nivlitrht  Lrrasp  for  that  of  a.s6//vc  or  soiiiuthini' 
worse  ?" 

"Ah,Messcr  Niccolo  !"  said  Tito,  recovering  himself  im- 
mediately ;  "  it  must  liave  been  an  extra  amount  of  dullness 
in  my  veins  this  morniny;  that  shutldered  at  the  approach  of 
your  wit.     But  the  fact  is,  I  have  had  a  bad  night." 

"  That  is  unlucky,  l)ecause  you  will  be  expected  to  sliine 
without  anv  obstructing  fog  to-dav  in  the  Rucellai  Gardens. 
I  take  it  for  granted  you  are  to  be  there." 

"Messer  Bernardo  did  me  the  lionor  to  invite  me,"  said 
Tito  ;  '•  but  I  shall  be  engaged  elsewhere." 

"  Ah  !  I  remember,  you  are  iii  love,"  said  !Macchiavelli, 
with  a  shrug, "  else  you  would  never  liave  such  inconvenient 
engagements.  Why,  we  are  to  eat  a  ])eacock  and  ortolans 
under  the  loggia  among  Bernardo  Kucellai's  rare  trees  ;  there 
are  to  be  the  choicest  spirits  in  Florence  and  the  choicest  wines. 
Only  as  Piero  de'  Medici  is  to  be  there,  the  choice  spirits  may 
liapjien  to  be  swamped  in  the  capping  of  impromptu  verses. 
1  hate  that  game;  it  is  a  device  for  the  triumi)li  of  small  wits, 
who  are  always  inspired  the  most  by  the  smallest  occasions." 

""What  is  that  you  arc  saying  about  Piero  de''  Medici  and 
small  wits,  Messer  Niccolu?"  said  Xello,  whose  light  figure 
was  at  that  moment  j)redominating  over  the  Herculean  frame 
of  Niccolo  Caparra.  That  famous  worker  in  iron,  whom  we 
saw  last  with  bared  muscular  arms  ajid  leathern  a]/ron  in  the 
IMercato  Vecchio,  was  this  morning  drt'ssed  in  lioliday  suit, 
and  as  lie  sat  submissively  while  Nello  skipped  round  him, 
lathered  him,  seized  him  by  the  nose,  and  scrajM'd  him  with 
magical  quickness,  he  looked  much  as  a  lion  might  if  it  had 
donned  linen  and  tunic  and  was  preparing  to  go  into  society. 

"A  private  secretary  will  never  rise  in  the  world  if  he 
couples  great  and  small  in  tiiat  way,"  continued  Nello.  "  Wlien 
great  mcTi  are  not  allowed  to  marry  their  sons  and  daughti'rs 
as  they  like,  small  men  must  not  expect  to  marry  their  words 
as  they  like.  Have  you  heard  the  news  Bernardo  CV'imini 
here  has  been  telling  us  V  that  Pagolantonio  Soderini  has  given 
Ser  I'iero  da  IJibbiena  a  box  on  the  ear  for  setting  on  Piero 
de'  Medici  to  interfere  with  the  marriage  between  young 
Tommaso  Soderini  and  Fiamnietta  Strozzi,  and  is  to  be  sent 
embassador  to  Venice  as  a  ];unishment  V" 

"I  don't  know  which  I  envy  him  most," said  ]Macchiavelli, 
"  the  offense  or  the  punishment.  The  offense  will  make  him 
the  most  popular  man  in  all  Florence,  and  the  punishment  will 


ROMOLA.  155 

take  bim  among  the  only  people  in  Italy  who  have  known  how 
to  manage  their  own  affairs." 

"  Yes,  if  Soderini  stays  long  enough  at  Venice,"  said  Cen- 
nini,  "  he  may  chance  to  learn  the  Venetian  fashion,  and  bring 
it  home  with  him.  The  Soderini  have  been  fast  friends  of  the 
Medici,  but  Avhat  has  happened  is  likely  to  open  Pagolantonio's 
eyes  to  the  good  of  our  old  Florentine  trick  of  choosing  a  new 
harness  when  the  old  one  galls  us ;  if  we  have  not  quite  lost 
the  trick  in  these  last  fifty  years." 

"  Xot  we,"  said  Xiccolo  Caparra,  who  was  rejoicing  in 
the  free  use  of  his  lips  again.  "  Eat  eggs  in  Lent  and  the 
snow  will  melt.  That's  what  I  say  to  our  people  when  they  get 
noisy  over  their  cups  at  San  Gallo,  and  talk  of  raising  a  ronior 
(insurrection) :  I  say,  never  do  you  plan  a  romor;  you  may 
as  well  try  to  fill  Arno  with  buckets.  When  there's  water 
enough  Arno  will  be  full,  and  that  will  not  be  till  tlie  torrent 
is  ready." 

"  Caparra,  that  oracular  speech  of  yours  is  due  to  my  ex- 
cellent shaving,"  said  Nello.  "  You  could  never  have  made 
it  with  that  dark  rust  on  your  chin.  JEcco,  Messer  Bernardo, 
I  am  ready  for  you  now.  By-thc-way,  my  bel  erud'do^''  con- 
tinued Nello,  as  he  saw  Tito  moving  towards  the  door,  "  here 
has  been  old  Maso  seeking  for  you,  but  your  nest  was  empty. 
He  Avill  come  again  presently.  The  old  man  looked  mournful, 
and  seemed  in  haste.  I  hope  there  is  nothing  wrong  in  the 
Via  de' Bardi.' 

"  Doubtless,  Messer  Tito  knows  that  Bardo's  son  is  dead," 
said  Cronaca,  who  had  just  come  up. 

Tito's  heart  gave  a  leap — had  tlie  death  happened  before 
Romola  saw  him  ? 

"  Xo,  I  had  not  heard  it,"  he  said,  with  no  more  discom- 
posure than  the  occasion  seemed  to  warrant,  turning  and  lean- 
ing against  the  door-post,  as  if  he  had  given  up  his  intention 
of  going  away.  "  I  knew  that  his  sister  had  gone  to  see  him. 
Did  he  die  before  she  arrived  ?" 

"  Xo,"  said  Cronaca ;  "  I  was  in  San  Marco  at  the  time,  and 
saw  her  come  out  from  the  chapter-house  with  Fra  Girolamo, 
who  told  us  that  the  dying  man's  breath  had  been  preserved 
as  by  a  miracle,  that  he  might  make  a  disclosure  to  his  sister." 

Tito  felt  that  his  fate  was  decided.  Again  his  mind  rushed 
over  all  the  circumstances  of  his  departure  from  Florence,  and 
he  conceived  a  plan  of  getting  back  his  money  from  Cennini 
before  the  disclosure  had  become  public.  If  he  once  had  his 
money  he  need  Tiot  stay  long  in  endurance  of  scorching  looks 
and  biting  words.  He  would  wait  now,  and  go  away  with 
Cennini  and  get  the  money  from  liim   at  once.     With  that 


150  Ki.Mitl.A. 

project  in  liis  iiiiml  ho  stood  inotionU'ss — liis  hands  inliisbolt, 
liis  ovcs  iixod  absently  on  the  i^round.  Nello,  t'lancinLT  at 
him,  felt  sure  that  he  was  absorbed  in  anxiety  about  lioniohi, 
and  thought  him  such  a  pretty  image  of  self-forgetful  sadnesa 
that  he  just  perceptil>ly  pointed  his  razor  at  him,  and  gave  a 
challenfrinGC  look  at  l*iero  di  Cosimo,  whom  he  had  never  for- 
tjiven  lor  iiis  refusal  to  see  any  prtignostics  of  character  in  his 
favorite's  handsome  face.  Piero,  who  was  leaning  against  the 
other  door-i>ost,  close  to  Tito,  shrugged  his  shoulders:  the 
frequent  recurrence  of  such  challenges  from  Nello  had  changed 
the  painter's  ilrst  declaration  of  neutrality  into  a  positive  in- 
clination to  believe  ill  of  the  much-praised  Greek. 

"  So  vou  have  got  your  Fra  Girolamo  back  again,  Cronaca  ?" 
said  Xello.  "I  suppose  we  shall  have  him  preaching  again 
this  next  Advent,"  said  Xello. 

'•And  not  before  there  is  need,"  said  Cronaca  gravely. 
"  We  have  hail  the  best  testimony  to  his  words  since  the  last 
Quaresima;  for  even  to  the  wicked  wickedness  has  become  a 
plague  ;  and  the  ripeness  of  vice  is  turning  to  rottenness  in  the 
nostrils  even  of  the  vicious.  There  has  not  been  a  change 
since  the  Quaresima,  either  in  Rome  or  at  Florence,  but  has 
put  a  new  seal  on  the  Frate's  words — that  the  harvest  of  siu 
is  ripe,  and  that  God  will  reap  it  with  a  sword." 

"  I  hope  he  has  had  a  new  vision,  however,"  said  Francesco 
Cei,  sneeringly.  "The  old  ones  are  somewhat  stale.  Can't 
your  Frate  get  a  poet  to  help  out  his  imagination  for  him  V* 

"He  has  no  lac^k  of  poets  about  him,"  said  Cronaca,  with 
(piiet  contem})t,  "  but  they  are  great  poets  and  not  little  ones ; 
so  they  are  contented  to  be  taught  by  him,  an<l  no  more  think 
the  truth  stale  which  God  has  given  him  to  utter  than  they 
think  the  light  of  the  room  is  stale.  ]>ut  perhaps  certain  high 
prelates  and  princes  who  don't  like  the  Frate's  demmciations 
might  be  ])leased  to  hear  that,  though  Giovanni  Pico,  and 
Poliziano,  and  ^larsilio  Ficiiio,  and  most  other  men  of  mark  in 
Florence  reverence  Fra  Girulanu),  Messer  Francesco  Cei  de- 
spises him." 

"  Poliziano  ?"  said  Cei,  with  a  scornful  laugh.  "  Yes,  doubt- 
less he  believes  in  your  new  Jonah  ;  witness  the  line  oration 
he  wrote  for  the  envoys  of  Sienna,  to  tell  Alexander  the  Sixth 
that  the  world  and  the  church  were  never  so  well  off  as  since 
he  became  Pope." 

"  Nay,  Francesco,"  said  Macchiavelli,  smiling,  "  a  various 
scholar  niust  have  various  opinions.  And  as  for  the  Frate, 
whatever  we  may  think  of  his  saintliness,  you  judge  his  jireach- 
ing  too  narrowly.  The  secret  of  oratory  lies  not  in  saying  new 
thin<'3,  but  in  saying  things  with  a  certain  power  that  moves' 


KOMOLA.  157 

the  hearers — without  which,  as  oldFilelfo  has  said,  your  speak- 
er deserves  to  be  called,  'non  oratorem,  sed  aratorem.'  And, 
according  to  that  test,  Fra  Girolamo  is  a  great  orator." 

'■  That  is  true,  Niccolo,"  said  Cennini,  speaking  from  the 
shaving-chair,  "  but  part  of  the  secret  lies  in  the  prophetic  vis- 
ions. Our  people— no  offense  to  you,  Cronaca — will  run  after 
any  thing  in  the  shape  of  a  prophet,  especially  if  he  prophesies 
ierrors  and  tribulations." 

"  Rather  say,  Cennini,"  answered  Cronaca,  "  that  the  chief 
3ecret  lies  in  the  Frate's  pure  life  and  strong  faith,  which  stamp 
him  as  a  messenger  of  God." 

"  I  admit  it — I  admit  it,"  said  Cennini,  opening  his  palms, 
as  he  rose  from  the  chair.  "  His  life  is  spotless  :  no  man  has 
impeached  it." 

"He  is  satisfied  with  the  pleasant  lust  of  arrogance,"  Cei 
burst  out,  bitterly.  "  I  can  see  it  in  that  proud  lip  and  satis- 
fied eye  of  his.  He  hears  the  air  filled  with  his  own  name — 
Fra  Girolamo  Savonarola,  of  Ferrara  ;  the  prophet,  the  saint, 
the  mighty  preacher,  who  frightens  the  very  babies  of  Flor- 
ence into  Ivino:  down  their  wicked  baubles." 

"  Come,  come,  Francesco,  you  are  out  of  humor  with  wait- 
ing," said  the  conciliatory  Nello.  "  Let  me  stop  your  mouth 
with  a  little  lather.  I  must  not  have  my  friend  Cronaca  made 
angry :  I  have  a  regard  for  his  chin  ;  and  his  chin  is  in  no  re- 
spect altered  since  he  became  a  piagnone.  And  for  my  own 
part,  I  confess,  when  the  Frate  was  preaching  in  the  Duomo 
last  Advent,  I  got  into  such  a  trick  of  slipping  in  to  listen  to 
him,  that  I  might  have  turned  piagnone  too,  if  I  had  not  been 
hindered  by  the  liberal  nature  of  my  art — and  also  by  the 
length  of  the  sermons,  which  are  sometimes  a  good  while  be- 
fore they  get  to  the  moving  point.  But  as  Messer  Niccolo 
here  says,  the  Frate  lays  hold  of  the  people  by  some  power 
over  and  above  his  prophetic  visions.  Mi5nks  and  nuns  who 
prophesy  ai"e  not  of  that  rareness.  For  what  says  Luigi  Pulci  ? 
'  Dombrnno's  sharp-cutting  cimeter  had  the  fame  of  being  en- 
chanted ;  but,'  says  Messer  Luigi,  '  I  mn  rather  of  opinion 
that  it  cut  sharp  because  it  was  of  strongly-tempered  steel.' 
5res,  yes ;  paternosters  may  shave  clean,  but  they  must  be  said 
over  a  good  razor." 

'*  See,  Xello  !"  said  MacchiaveUi,  "  what  doctor  is  this  ad- 
vancing on  his  Bucephalus  ?  I  thought  your  piazza  was  free 
from  those  furred  and  scarlet-robed  lackeys  of  death.  This 
man  looks  as  if  he  had  had  some  such  night  adventure  as 
Boccaccio's  ]\Iaestro  Simone,  and  had  his  bonnet  and  mantle 
pickled  a  little  in  the  gutter;  though  he  himself  is  as  sleek  as 
a  miller's  rat," 


158  ROirOI.A. 

"  A-ali!"  said  Ndlo,  with  ;i  l(j\v,  long-drawn  intoi'ation,  as 
he  looked  ii])  tcnvards  the  advancing  figure — a  round-lieaded, 
roiin(l-ljodit'<l  pi-isonagi',  seated  on  a  raw  young  horse,  which 
lielii  its  nose  out  with  an  air  ot  tlireatening  olislinacv,  and  l)y 
a  constant  effort  to  bac]<  and  go  off  in  an  ohrujue  line  show- 
ed free  views  about  authority  very  much  in  advance  of  the 
age. 

"And  1  liave  a  few  more  adventures  in  jiicklc  for  him,' 
continued  Nello,  in  an  under-tone,  "  wliicli  1  liopc  will  drive  his 
in(|uiring  nostrils  to  another  quarter  of  the  citv.  IIe''s  a  doc- 
tor ivom  Padua;  they  say  he  has  been  at  l*rato  for  three 
months,  and  now  he's  come  to  Florence  to  see  what  he  can  net. 
But  his  great  trick  is  making  rounds  among  the  contadini. 
And  do  you  note  those  great  saddle-bags  he  carries?  They 
are  to  hold  the  fat  capons,  and  eggs,  and  meal  he  levies  on  silly 
clowns  witli  whom  coin  is  scarce.  He  vends  liis  own  secret 
medicines,  so  he  keeps  away  from  the  doors  of  the  spcziall 
(druggists)  ;  and  for  tliis  last  week  he  has  taken  to  sitting  iii 
my  i)iazza  for  two  or  three  hours  every  day,  and  making  it  a 
resort  for  asthmas  and  squalling />r/?»7>/;</.  It  stirs  my  gall  to 
see  the  toad-faced  quack  fingering  the  greasy  quattrini,  or 
bagging  a  ])igeon  in  exchange  for  his  pills  and  powders.  But 
I'll  put  a  few  thorns  in  his  saddle,  else  I'm  no  Floientine. 
Laudamus  !  he  is  coming  to  be  shaved  ;  that's  M'hat  I'\  e  wait- 
ed for.  ]\Iesser  Bernardo,  go  not  away — wait;  you  shall  seo 
a  rare  bit  of  foolimr,  which  I  devised  two  davs  ago.  Here, 
Sandro!" 

Xello  whispero<l  in  the  ear  of  Sandro,  who  rolled  his  solemn 
oyes,  nodiled,  an<l  following  up  these  signs  of  understanding 
•with  a  slow  smile,  look  to  his  heels  with  surprising  rajtidity. 

"How  is  it  \\i(h  you,  ]\Iaestro  Tacco  V"  said  Nello,  as  the 
doctor,  with  ditlicully,  brought  his  horse's  head  round  towards 
the  barber's  sho]).  "  That  is  a  fine  young  horse  of  yours,  but 
something  raw  in  the  mouth, eh?" 

"  lie  is  an  accursed  beast,  the  vermnrroir  sei/.c  him  !"  said 
Maestro  Tacco,  with  a  burst  of  irritation,  descending  from  liLs 
saddle  and  fastening  the  old  bridle,  mendid  with  string,  to  an 
iron  stajile  in  the  wall.  "  Nevertheless,"  he  added,  recollecting 
-Mmself, '' a  sound  beast  and  a  valuable,  for  one  who  wanted  to 
purchase,  •^nd  geta  profit  by  training  him.     1  had  him  cheap." 

"  Rather  too  hard  riding  for  a  man  who  carries  your  weight 
of  learnimx  :  eh,  Maestro  V"  said  Nello.      "  You  seem  hot." 

"Truly,  I  am  likely  to  be  hot,'' said  the  doctoi,  taking  off 
his  bonnet,  and  giving  to  full  view  a  bald  low  head  and  flat 
broad  face,  with  high  ears,  wide,  lipless  mouth,  romid  eyes,  and 
deej)  arched  lines  above  the  i)rojecting  eyebrows,  which  alto' 


ROMOLA,  159 

ja^ethev  made  Ncllo's  epithet  "  toad-faced  "  dubiously  complL 
Tneutaiy  to  the  blameless  batracbinii.  "  Riding  fi-otn  Peretola, 
when  the  sun  is  high,  is  not  the  same  thing  as  kicking  your 
heels  on  a  bench  in  the  shade,  like  your  Florence  doctors. 
Moreover,  I  have  had  not  a  little  pulling  to  get  througli  the 
carts  and  mules  into  the  Mercato  to  find  out  the  husband  of  a 
certain  Moiuia  Ghita  who  had  had  a  fatal  seizure  before  I  w^as 
called  in ;  and  if  it  had  not  been  that  I  liad  to  demand  my 
fees—" 

"  Monna  Gliita  !"  said  Xello,  as  the  perspiring  doctor  inter- 
rupted himself  to  rub  his  head  and  face.  "  Peace  be  with  her 
angry  soul !  The  Mercato  will  want  a  whip  the  more  if  her 
tongue  is  laid  to  rest." 

Tito,  who  had  roused  himself  from  his  abstraction  and  was 
listening  to  the  dialogue,  felt  a  new  rush  of  the  vague,  half, 
formed  ideas  about  Tessa,  which  had  passed  through  his  mind 
the  evening  before  :  if  Moima  Ghita  were  really  taken  out  of 
the  way  it  would  be  easier  for  him  to  see  Tessa  again — when- 
ever  he  wanted  to  see  her. 

"  Gyiaffe,  maestro,"  Nello  went  on,  in  a  sympathizing  tone, 
"you  are  the  slave  of  rude  mortals,  who,  but  for  you,  would 
die  like  brutes,  without  help  of  pill  or  powder.  It  is  pitiful  to 
see  your  learned  lymph  oozing  from  your  pores  as  if  it  were 
mere  vulgar  moisture.  You  think  my  shaving  will  cool  and 
disencumber  you  ?  One  moment  and  I  have  done  with  Messer 
Francesco  here.  It  seems  to  me  a  thousand  years  till  I  Avait 
upon  a  man  who  carries  all  the  science  of  Arabia  in  his  head 
and  saddle-bags.     Ecco  !" 

Nello  held  up  the  shaving-doth  with  an  air  of  invitation, 
and  Maestro  Tacco  advanced  and  seated  himself  under  a  ])re- 
occupation  with  his  heat  and  his  self-importance,  Avhich  made 
}iim  quite  deaf  to  the  irony  conveyed  in  Nello's  officiously 
friendly  tones. 

"  It  is  but  fitting  that  a  great  medicus  like  you,"  said  Nello 
adjusting  the  cloth,  "  should  be  shaved  by  the  same  razor  that 
has  shaved  the  illustrious  Antonio  Benevieni,  the  greatest 
master  of  the  chirurgic  art." 

"  The  chirurgic  art !"  interrupted  the  .lector,  with  an  air  of 
contemptuous  disgust.  "  Is  it  your  Florentine  fashion  to  put 
the  masters  of  the  science  of  medicine  on  a  level  with  men 
who  do  carpentry  on  broken  limbs,  and  sew  up  wounds  like 
tailors,  and  carve  away  excrescences  as  a  butcher  trims  meat. 
Via!  A  manual  art,  such  as  anv  artificer  might  learn,  and 
which  has  been  practised  by  simple  barbers  like  yourself — on 
a  level  with  the  noble  science  of  Hippocrates,  Galen,  and 
Avicenna,  which  penetrates  into  the  occult  influence  of  thg 


160  UOMOIJV. 

Ptars,  and  plants,  and  gems! — a  science  locked  up  from  tlia 
vulvar!" 

"  No,  in  truth,  maestro,"  said  Ncllo,  using  his  lather  very 
deliheratfly,  as  if  lu;  wanted  to  ]>rolong  the  0])eration  to  the 
utmost — "  I  never  thought  of  ])lacing  them  on  a  level :  I  know 
your  science  comes  next  to  the  miracles  of  Holy  Church  for 
mystery,  l^ut  tln-re,  you  see,  is  the  pity  of  it" — here  Xello 
fell  into  a  tone  of  regretful  sympathy — "  your  high  science  is 
sealed  from  the  ])rofane  and  the  vulgar,  and  so  you  become  an 
object  of  envy  and  slander.  I  grieve  to  say  it,  l>ut  there  are 
low  fellows  ill  this  city — mere  stjhcrri,  who  go  about  in  night- 
caps and  long  beards,  and  make  it  their  business  to  sprinkle 
gall  in  every  man's  broth  who  is  prospering.  Let  me  tell  you 
— for  vou  are  a  stranger — this  is  a  city  where  every  man  had 
need  carry  a  large  nail  ready  to  fasten  on  the  wheel  of  Fortune 
when  his  side  ha))pens  to  be  uppermost.  Already  there  are 
stories — mere  fables,  tloubtless — beginning  to  be  buzzed  about 
concerning  you,  that  make  me  Avish  I  could  hear  of  your  be- 
ing well  on  your  way  to  Arezzo.  I  would  not  have  a  man  of 
your  metal  stoned  ;  for  though  San  Stefano  was  stoned,  he 
was  not  irreat  in  medici:;e  like  San  Cosmo  and  San  Dainia- 
no...." 

"  What  stories  ?  what  fables  ?"  stammered  Masetro  Tacco. 
"What  do  you  mean?" 

'■'■  Jaisso!  1  feai-  me  you  are  come  into  the  trap  for  your 
cheese,  Maestro.  The  fact  is,  there  is  a  company  of  evil  youths 
who  go  jirowlmg  about  the  houses  of  our  citizens  carrying 
i-;hai'p  tools  in  their  ])ockets  ;  no  sort  of  door,  or  window,  or 
shutter  but  they  will  ]»ierce  it.  They  are  possessed  with  a 
diabolical  jiatience  to  watch  the  doings  of  people  who  fancy 
thcMiselvcs  jiiivale.  It  must  be  they  who  have  done  it — it 
must  be  they  who  have  spread  the  stories  about  you  and  your 
medicines.  Have  you  by  chance  detected  any  small  aperture 
in  your  door  or  window  shutter?  No?  Khhcnc,  I  advise 
you  to  look — for  it  is  now  commonly  talked  of  that  you  have 
been  seen  in  vour  dwellinccat  the  Canto  di  Paglia  makiriix  vour 
secret  specifics  by  night:  pounding  dried  toads  in  a  inoitar, 
?ompotmding  a  salve  out  of  mashed  worms,  and  making  your 
pills  from  the  dried  livers  of  rats  which  you  mix  with  saliva 
emitted  during  the  utterance  of  a  blasphemous  incantatioji — 
wfiich  indeed  these  witnesses  jirofess  to  repeat." 

"It  is  a  ]iack  of  lies!"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  strugtrling  to 
get  utteiance,  and  then  desisting  in  alarm  at  th.e  approaching 
razor. 

"  It  is  not  to  me  or  any  of  this  respectable  company  that 
you  need  to  say  that,  dotlorc.      We  are  not  the  heads  to  plan* 


ROMOLA,  1  0  i 

euch  carrots  as  tliose  in.  But  what  of  that?  What  are  a 
liandful  of  reasonable  men  against  a  crowd  with  stones  in  their 
hands  ?  There  are  those  among  us  who  think  Cecco  d'Ascoli 
was  an  innocent  sage — and  we  all  know  how  he  was  burned  alive 
for  being  wiser  than  his  fellows.  It  is  not  by  living  at  Padua 
that  you  can  learn  to  know  Florentines.  My  belief  is,  they 
would  stone  the  Holy  Futher  himself  if  they  could  find  a  good 
excuse  for  it;  and  they  are  persuaded  that  you  are" a  nigro- 
mante,  Avho  is  trying  to  raise  the  pestilence  by  selling  secret 
medicines — and  I  am  told  your  specifics  have  in  truth  an  evil 
smell." 

"  It  is  false  !"  burst  out  the  doctor,  as  Nello  moved  away 
his  razor.  "  It  is  false  !  I  will  show  the  pills  and  the  powders 
to  these  honorable  signori — and  the  salve — it  has  an  excel- 
lent odor — an  odor  of — of  salve."  Pie  started  up  wnth  the 
lather  on  his  chin,  and  the  cloth  round  his  neck,  to  search  in 
his  saddle-bag  for  the  belied  medicines,  and  Nello  in  an  instant 
adroitly  shifted  the  shaving-chair  till  it  was  in  the  close  vicin- 
ity of  the  horse's  head,  while  Sandro,  who  had  now  returned, 
at  a  sign  from  his  master,  placed  himself  near  the  bridle. 

^'Bahold  inesserif''  said  the  doctor,  bringing  a  small  box  of 
medicines  and  opening  it  before  them.  "  Let  any  signor  ap- 
ply this  box  to  his  nostrils  and  he  will  find  an  honest  odor  of 
medicaments— not  indeed  of  pounded  gems,  or  rare  vegetables 
from  the  East,  or  stones  found  in  the  bodies  of  birds ;  for  I 
practise  on  the  diseases  of  the  vulgar,  for  whom  Heaven  has 
provided  cheaper  and  less  powerful  remedies  according  to  their 
degree :  aiid  there  are  even  remedies  known  to  our  science  which 
are  entirely  free  of  cost — as  the  new  tiissis  may  be  counteract- 
ed in  the  poor,  who  can  pay  for  no  specifics,  by  a  resolute  hold- 
ing of  the  breath.  And  here  is  a  paste  which  is  even  of  savory 
odor,  and  is  infallible  against  melancholia,  being  concocted 
under  the  conjunction  of  Jupiter  and  Venus — and  I  have  seen 
it  allay  spasms." 

"  Stay,  maestro,"  said  Kello,  while  the  doctor  had  his  lather- 
ed  face  turned  towards  the  group  near  the  door,  eagerly  hold- 
ing out  his  box  and  lifting  out  one  specific  after  another; 
"  here  comes  a  crying  contadina  witli  her  baby.  Doubtless  she 
is  in  search  of  you ;  it  is  perhaps  an  opportunity  for  you  to 
show  this  honorable  company  a  proof  of  your  skill.  Here  buo- 
na  donna  f  here  is  the  famous  doctor.  Why  what  is  the  mat- 
ter with  the  sweet  bambino  f'' 

This  question  was  addressed  to  a  sturdy-looking,  broad- 
shouldered  contadina,  with  her  head-drapery  folded  about  her 
face  so  that  little  was  to  be  seen  but  a  bronzed  nose  and  a  pair 
of  dark  eyes  and  eyebrows.     She  carried  her  child  packed  up 


162  ROMOI.A. 

ill  tlu'  stiff  mnininv-sliaiKHl  c.isc  in  which  Italian  habios  hav« 
been  from  linu'  innnemoiial  introihiced  into  society,  turning 
its  face  a  littk'  towards  her  bosoin,  an<l  makini;  those  sorrow- 
ful grimaces  wliich  women  are  in  the  habit  of  using  as  a  sort 
of  pulleys  to  draw  down  reluctant  tears. 

"  Oh,  for  the  love  of  the  holy  ^Madonna  I"  said  the  woman 
with  a  wailing  voice,  '*  will  you  look  at  my  poor  bainhhietto  / 
I  know  I  can't  pay  you  for  it,  but  I  took  it  into  the  IS'unziata 
last  night,  and  it's  turned  a  worse  color  than  before ;  it's  the 
convulsions.  ]>ut  when  I  was  holding  it  before  the  Santissima 
Kunziata,  I  remember  they  said  there  was  a  new  <loctor  come 
who  cured  every  thing;  and  so  I  thought  it  might  bo  the  will 
of  the  ^ladonna  that  I  should  bring  it  to  you." 

"Sit  down,  maestro,  sit  down,"  said  Nello.  "Here  is  an 
opportunity  for  you  ;  here  are  honorable  witnesses  who  will 
declare  before  the  ]Ma'niificent  Council  of  Eight  that  thev  have 
seen  you  ]>ractising  lujuestly  and  relieving  a  poor  woman  s 
child.  And  then  if  your  lile  is  in  danger,  the  Magniticent 
Eight  will  put  you  in  jtrison  a  little  while  just  to  insure  your 
safety,  and  after  that  their  sbirrl  \\\\\  conduct  you  out  of  Flor- 
ence by  night,  as  they  did  the  jealous  Frate  ^linore,  who  preach- 
ed against  the  Jews.  What!  our  ])eople  arc  given  to  stone- 
throwing  ;  but  we  have  magistrates." 

The  doctor,  unable  to  refuse,  seated  himself  in  the  shaving- 
chair,  trembling,  half  with  fear  and  half  with  rage,  and  by  this 
lime  quite  unconscious  of  the  lather  which  Xello  had  laid  on 
with  such  profuseness.  lie  deposited  his  medicine-case  on  his 
knees,  took  out  his  ]>recious  spectacles  (wondrous  Florentine 
device  !)  from  his  wallet,  lodgi-d  them  carefully  above  his  llat 
nose  and  high  ears,  and  lifting  up  his  brows,  turned  towards 
the  ajiplicant. 

"O  Santiddio?  look  at  him,"  said  the  woman,  with  a  more 
piteous  wail  than  ever,  as  she  held  out  the  small  munnny, 
which  had  its  head  completely  concealed  by  dingy  drapery 
wound  round  the  head  of  the  portalile  cradle,  but  secTued  to 
be  struggling  and  crying  in  a  demoniacal  fashion  mider  this 
imprisonment.  "The  fit  is  on  him  !  Ohime!  I  know  what  a 
color  he  is;  it's  the  evil-eye — oh  !" 

The  doctor,  anxiously  holding  his  knees  together  to  support 
his  box,  bent  his  spectacles  towards  the  baby,  and  said,  cau- 
tiously, "It  may  be  a  new  disease;  unwind  these  rags,  Mon- 
na!"' 

The  contadina,  with  sudden  energy,  snatched  off  the  encir- 
cling linen,  when  out  struggled — scratching,  grinning,  and 
screaming — what  the  doctor  in  his  fright  fully  believetl  to  be 
a  demon,  but  what  Tito  recognized  as  Vaiano's  monkey,  made 


EOMOLA.  163 

more  formidable  by  an  artificial  blackness,  such  as  might  have 
come  fi-om  a  hasty  rubbing  up  the  chimney. 

Up  started  the  unfortunate  doctor,  letting  his  raedicine-box 
fall,  and  away  jumped  the  no  less  terrified  and  indignant  mon- 
key, finding  the  first  resting-place  for  his  claws  on  the  horse's 
mane,  which  he  used  as  a  sort  of  rope-ladder  till  he  had  fairly 
found  his  equilibrium,  when  he  continued  to  clutch  it  as  a  bri- 
dle. The  horse  wanted  no  spur  under  such  a  rider,  and,  the 
already  loosened  bridle  offering  no  resistance,  darted  off  across 
the  piazza  with  the  monkey  clutching,  grinning,  and  blinking, 
on  his  neck. 

"  II  cavallo !  II  Diavolo .'"  was  now  shouted  on  all  sides 
by  the  idle  rascals  who  had  gathered  from  all  quarters  of  the 
piazza,  and  was  echoed  in  tones  of  alarm  by  the  stall-keepers, 
whose  vested  interests  seemed  in  some  danger ;  while  the  doc- 
tor, out  of  his  wits  with  confused  terror  at  the  Devil,  the  pos- 
sible stoning,  and  the  escape  of  his  horse,  took  to  his  heels 
with  spectacles  on  nose,  lathered  face,  and  the  shaving-cloth 
about  his  neck,  crying,  "  Stop  him  !  stop  him !  for  a  powder 
— a  fiorin — stop  him  for  a  florin  !''  while  the  lads,  outstripping 
him,  clapped  their  hands  and  shouted  encouragement  to  the 
runaway. 

The  cerretano,  who  had. not  bargained  for  the  flight  of  his 
monkey  along  with  tlie  horse,  had  caught  up  his  petticoats 
with  much  celerity,  and  showed  a  pair  of  parti-colored  hose 
above  his  contadina's  shoes,  far  in  advance  of  the  doctor.  xVnd 
away  went  the  grotesque  race  up  to  the  Corso  degli  Adimari 
— the  horse  with  the  singular  jockey,  the  contadina  Avith  the 
remai'kable  hose,  and  the  doctor  in  lather  and  si^ectacles,  with 
furred  mantle  butflying. 

It  was  a  scene  such  as  Florentines  loved,  from  the  potent 
and  reverend  signor  going  to  council  in  his  lucco,  down  to  the 
grinning  youngster,  who  felt  himself  master  of  all  situations 
Avhen  his  bag  was  filled  with  smooth  stones  from  the  conve- 
nient dry  bed  of  the  torrent.  The  gray-headed  Bernardo  Cen- 
nini  laughed  no  less  heartily  than  the  younger  men,  and  Ncllo 
was  triumphantly  secure  of  the  general  admiration. 

"  Aha  !"  he  exclaimed,  snapping  his  fingers  when  the  first 
burst  of  laughter  was  subsidhig.  "  I  have  cleared  my  piazza 
of  that  unsavory  flytrap,  mi  ^J)«rc.  Maestro  Tacco  will  no 
more  come  here  again  to  sit  for  patients  than  he  will  take  to 
licking  marble  for  his  dinner." 

"  You  are  going  towards  the  Piazza  della  Signoria,  Messer 
Bernardo,"  said  Macchiavelli.  "  I  will  go  with  you,  and  we 
shall  perhaps  see  Avho  has  deserved  the  palio  among  these 
racers.     Come,  Melema,  will  you  go  too  ?" 


104  Rf)M<)I.A. 

It  liaJ  been  precisely  Tito's  intention  to  accompany  Cennl 
ni,  hut  before  lie  had  gone  many  steps  he  was  called  back  by 
Xello,  who  saw  Maso  approaehint;. 

.Maso's  messai^e  was  from  Komola.  She  wished  Tito  to  go 
to  the  Via  de'  Bardi  as  soon  as  possible.  She  would  see  him 
under  the  loggia,  at  the  top  of  the  house,  as  she  wished  to  speak 
\v  him  alone. 


CPIAPTER  XVII. 

UNDER     THE      LOGGIA. 

TiiK  loggia  at  the  top  of  Bardo's  house  rose  above  the  buikU 
ings  on  each  side  of  it,  and  formed  a  gallery  round  quatlran- 
gular  walls.  On  the  side  towards  the  street  the  roof  was  sup- 
ported by  cohunns  ;  but  on  the  remaining  sides,  by  a  Avail 
pierced  Avith  arched  openings,  so  that  at  the  back,  looking  over 
a  crowd  of  irregular,  poorly  built  dwellings  towards  the  hill  of 
Bogoli,  Roniola  could  at  all  times  have  a  Avalk  sheltered  from 
observation.  Near  one  of  those  arched  openings,  close  to  the 
door  by  which  he  liad  entered  the  loggia,  Tito  awaited  her, 
nith  a  sickening  sense  of  the  sunlight  that  slanted  before  him 
.ind  mingled  itself  with  the  ruin  of  his  hopes.  He  had  ne\er 
for  a  moment  relied  on  Komula's  passion  for  him  as  likely  to 
be  too  strong  for  the  repulsion  created  by  the  discovery  of  his 
pccret ;  he  had  not  the  presumptuous  vanity  which  might  have 
hindered  him  from  feeling  that  her  love  IkuI  the  same  root  with 
her  belief  in  him.  But  as  he  imagined  her  coming  towards  him 
in  her  ratliant  majesty,  made  so  lovably  mortal  by  her  soft  ha- 
zv\  eyes,  he  fell  into  wishing  that  shehadlnen  something  low- 
er, if  it  were  only  that  she  might  let  liim  clasp  her  and  kiss  her 
before  they  parted.  He  had  had  no  real  caress  from  her — 
nothing  but  now  and  then  a  long  glance,  a  kiss,  a  ])ressure  of 
the  hand  ;  and  he  had  so  often  longed  that  they  should  be  alone 
togethei'.  They  were  going  to  be  alone  now  ;  but  he  saw  her 
standing  inexorably  aloof  from  him.  His  heart  gave  a  great 
throb  as  he  saw  the  door  move:  Komola  was  there.  It  was 
all  like  a  flash  of  lightning  :  he  felt,  rather  than  saw,  the  glory 
about  lier  head,  the  tearful  appealing  eyes  ;  he  felt,  rather  than 
heard,  the  cry  of  love  with  which  slie  said,  "  Tito  !" 

And  in  the  same  moment  she  was  in  liis  arms,  and  sobbing 
with  her  face  ag.iinst  his. 

How  j)Oor  Komola  had  yearned  through  the  watches  of  tlie 
niglit  to  see  tli:it  bright  face  !  The  new  image  of  death  ;  the 
strange  bowilderiiiir  doubt  infused  into  her  bv  the  story  of  a 


ROMOLA.  165 

life  removed  from  her  understanding  and  sympathy ;  the  haunt- 
ing  vision,  which  slie  seemed  not  only  to  hear  uttered  by  the 
low  gasping  voice,  but  to  Uve  through,  as  if  it  had  been  her 
own  dream,  had  made  her  more  conscious  than  ever  that  it  was 
Tito  who  had  first  brought  the  warm  stream  of  hope  and  glad- 
ness into  her  life,  and  who  had  first  turned  away  the  keen  edge 
of  pain  in  the  remembrance  of  her  brother.  She  would  tell 
Tito  every  thing ;  there  was  no  one  else  to  whom  she  could 
tell  it.  She  had  been  restraining  herself  in  the  presence  of  her 
father  all  the  morning ;  but  now  that  long  pent-up  sob  might 
come  forth.  Proud  and  self-controlled  to  all  the  Avorld  besides, 
Romola  was  as  simple  and  unreserved  as  a  child  in  her  love 
for  Tito.  She  had  been  quite  contented  with  the  days  when 
they  had  only  looked  at  each  other ;  but  now,  when  she  felt 
the  need  of  clinging  to  him,  there  was  no  thought  that  hinder- 
ed her. 

"My  Romola!  my  goddess!"  Tito  murmured  with  pas- 
sionate fondness,  as  he  clasped  her  gently,  and  kissed  the  thick 
golden  ripples  on  her  neck.  He  was  in  paradise:  disgrace, 
shame,  parting — there  was  no  fear  of  them  any  longer.  This 
happiness  was  too  strong  to  be  marred  by  the  sense  that  Rom- 
ola was  deceived  in  him  ;  nay,  he  could  only  rejoice  in  her  de- 
lusion ;  for,  after  all,  concealment  had  been  wisdom.  The  only 
thing  he  could  regret  was  his  needless  dread ;  if,  indeed,  the 
dread  had  not  been  worth  suffering  for  the  sake  of  this  sudden 
rapture. 

The  sob  had  satisfied  itself,  and  Romola  raised  her  head. 
Neither  of  them  spoke  ;  they  stood  looking  at  each  other's 
faces  with  that  sweet  wonder  which  belongs  to  young  love — 
she  with  her  long  white  hands  on  the  dark-brown  curls,  and 
he  with  his  dark  fingers  bathed  in  the  streaming  gold.  Each 
was  so  beautiful  to  the  other ;  each  was  experiencing  that  un- 
disturbed mutual  conscious)"«ss  for  the  first  time.  The  cold 
pressure  of  a  new  sadness  on  Romola's  heart  made  her  linger 
the  more  in  that  silent  soothing  sense  of  nearness  and  love ; 
and  Tito  could  not  even  seek  to  press  his  lips  to  hers,  because 
that  w^ould  be  change. 

"  Tito,"  she  said,  at  last,  "  it  has  been  altogether  painful. 
But  I  must  tell  you  every  thing.  Your  strength  will  help  me 
to  resist  the  impressions  that  will  not  be  shaken  off  by  reason." 

"  I  know,  Romola — I  know  he  is  dead,"  said  Tito  ;  and  the 
long  lustrous  eyes  told  nothing  of  the  many  wishes  that  would 
have  brought  about  that  death  long  ago  if  there  had  been 
Buch  potency  in  mere  wishes.  Romola  only  read  her  own 
pure  thoughts  in  their  dark  depths,  as  we  read  letters  in  happy 
dreams. 


1^0  ROMOLA. 

"So  changed,  Tito!     It  juerccd  mc  to  tfnuk  that  it  w.-w 

Dino.     And  so  slr;uit;tly  liard  :  not   a  word  to  my  father 

nothing  but  a  vision  iiiat  Ik-  wanted  t(j  tell  nie.  And  yet  it 
was  so  piteous— the  struggling  breath,  and  tlie  eves  that  seem- 
ed to  h.ok  towards  the  crucifix,  and  yet  not  to  see  it.  I  shall 
never  forget  it;  it  seems  as  if  it  wotild  come  between  me  and 
every  thing  I  sliall  look  at." 

Komola's  heart  swelled  again,  so  that  she  was  forced  to 
J)reak  off.  But  the  need  she  felt  to  disburden  her  miiid  to 
Tito  urged  her  to  repress  the  rising  anguish.  When  she  be- 
gan to  speak  again  her  thoughts  hail  travelled  a  little. 

"  It  was  strange,  Tito.  The  vision  was  about  our  marriage, 
and  yet  he  knew  nothing  of  you."  ^ 

"  What  was  it,  my  liomola  V  Sit  down  and  tell  me,"  said 
Tito,  leading  her  to  the  bench  that  stood  ncai-.  A  fear  had 
come  across  him  lest  the  vision  should  s(jmehow  or  other  re- 
late to  Baldassarre  ;  and  this  sudden  change  of  feeling  i)romi)t- 
ed  him  to  seek  a  change  of  position. 

liomola  told  him  all  tliat  had  passed  from  her  entrance  into 
Sail  Marco,  hardly  leaving  out  one  of  her  brother's  words 
which  had  burned  themselves  into  her  memory  as  they  were 
spoken.  But  when  she  was  at  the  end  of  the  vision  she 
paused;  the  rest  came  too  vividly  before  her  to  be  uttered 
and  she  sat  looking  at  the  distance  almost  unconscious  for  the 
moment  that  Tito  was  near  her.  7//.s  mind  was  at  ease  now; 
that  vague  vision  had  passed  over  him  like  white  mist,  and 
left  no  mark.      But   he  was  silent,  expecting  her    to  speak 


again. 


"  I  took  it,"  she  went  on,  as  if  Tito  had  been  reading  lier 
thoughts;  "I  took  the  crucifix;  it  is  down  below  in  mfbed- 


room." 


"  And  now,  anf^iol  mio,'"  said  Tito,  cntreatiiigly  ;  "  you  will 
banish  these  ghastly  thoughts.  Tlie  vision  was 'an  ordinary 
monkisli  vision,  bred  of  fasting  and  fanatical  ideas.  It  surely 
has  no  weight  with  you." 

"  No,  Tito ;  no.  But  poor  Dino,  he  believed  it  was  a  di- 
vine message.  It  is  strange,"  she  went  on,  meditatively,  "  tiiis 
life  of  men  possessed  with  fervid  beliefs  that  si'em  like  madness 
to  their  fellow-beings.  Dino  was  not  a  vulg.ir  fanatic;  and 
that  Fra  Girolamo,  his  very  voice  seems  to  liave  penetrated 
me  with  a  scu'^c  that  there  is  some  truth  in  what  moves  them 
— some  truth  of  wliich  I  know  nothing." 

"  It  was  only  because  your  feelings  were  highly  Avrouirht, 
my  Romola.  Your  brother's  state  of  mind  was  no'  more  than 
a  forn:  of  that  theoso])hy  which  has  been  the  common  disease 
of  excitable  dreamy  minds  in  all  ages;  the  same  ideas  that 


ROilOLA.  1G7 

your  father's  old  antagonist,  Marsilio  Ficino,  pores  over  in 
the  new  Platonists ;  only  your  brother's  passionate  nature 
drove  him  to  act  out  what  other  men  write  and  talk  about. 
And  for  Fra  Girolamo,  he  is  simply  a  narrow-minded  monk, 
with  a  gift  for  preaching  and  infusing  terror  into  the  multi- 
tude. Any  words  or  any  voice  would  have  sliaken  you  at 
that  moment.  AVhen  your  mind  has  had  a  little  repose,  you 
will  judge  of  such  things  as  you  have  always  done  before." 

"  Xot  about  poor  Dino,"  said  Romola.  "  I  was  angry  with 
him;  aiy  heart  seemed  to  close  against  him  while  he  was 
speaking ;  but  since  then  I  have  thought  less  of  what  Avas  in 
my  own  mind,  and  more  of  what  was  in  his.  Oh,  Tito  !  it 
was  very  j^iteous  to  see  his  young  life  coming  to  an  end  iu 
that  Avay.  That  yearning  look  at  tlie  crucifix  when  he  Avas 
gasping  for  breath — I  can  never  forget  it.  Last  night  I  look- 
ed at  the  crucifix  a  long  Avhile,  and  tried  to  see  that  it  would 
help  him,  until  at  last  it  seemed  to  me  by  the  lamplight  as  if 
the  suffering  face  shed  pity." 

^^ Romola  mia,  promise  me  to  resist  such  thoughts ;  they 
are  fit  for  sickly  nuns,  not  for  my  golden-tressed  Aurora,  Avho    j 
looks  made  to  scatter  all  such  tv/ilight  fantasies.     Try  not  to    ' 
think  of  them  now ;  Ave  shall  not  long  be  alone  together." 

The  last  words  Avere  uttered  in  a  tone  of  tender  beseeching, 
and  he  turned  her  face  towards  him  with  a  gentle  touch  of  his 
right  hand. 

Romola  had  had  her  eyes  fixed  absently  on  the  archel  open- 
ing, but  she  had  not  seen  the  distant  hill ;  she  had  :.ll  the 
while  been  in  the  chapter-house,  looking  at  the  pale  images  of 
sorrow  and  death. 

Tito's  touch  and  beseeching  voice  recalled  her,  and  now  in 
the  Avarm  sunlight  slie  saw  that  rich  dark  beauty  which  seem- 
ed to  gather  round  it  all  images  of  joy — purple  vines  festoon- 
ed between  the  elms,  the  strong  corn  perfecting  itself  under 
the  vibrating  heat,  bright-winged  creatures  hurrying  and  rest- 
ing among  the  flowers,  round  limbs  beating  the  earth  in  glad- 
ne^ss,  Avith  cymbals  held  aloft ;  light  melodies  chanting  to  the 
thrilling  rhythm  of  strings — all  objects  and  all  sounds  that  tell 
of  Xature  revelling  in  her  force.  Strange,  bewildering  transi- 
tion from  those  pale  images  of  sorrow  and  death  to  this  bright 
youthfulness,  as  of  a_sun-god  who  knew  nothing  of  night ! 
What  thought  coukl  ireconcile  that  Avorn  anguish  in  her  broth- 
er's face — that  straining  after  something  invisible — with  this 
satisfied  strength  and  beauty,  and  make  it  intelligible  that  they 
belonged  to  the  same  world  ?  Or  was  there  never  any  reconcil- 
ing of  them — but  only  a  blind  worship  of  clashing  deities,  first 
iu  mad  joy  and  then  in  waiUng  ?     Romola  for  the  first  time  ieJt 


168  KOMOLA. 

this  questioning?  need  like  a  sudden  uneasy  dizziness  and  want 
of  sonK'thiiit;-  to  ^rasp ;  it  was  an  experience  liardly  lont^er 
than  a  sii^h,  fur  the  eager  theoiizin<^  ut  ages  is  compressed,  ;x8 
in  a  seed,  in  the  momentary  want  of  a  single  mind.  But  there 
was  no  answer  to  meet  the  need,  and  it  va\iislK'd  before  the 
returning  rusli  of  young  symi)atliy  with  tlie  glad  loving  beau- 
ty that  beamed  upon  her  in  new  radiance,  like  the  dawn  after 
we  have  looked  away  from  it  to  the  gray  west. 

"  Your  mind  liiigers  a])art  from  our  love,  my  Komola,"  Tito 
said,  with  a  soft  reproachful  nmrmur.  "  It  seems  a  forgotten 
thing  to  you." 

She  looked  at  the  beseeching  eyes  in  silence  till  the  sadness 
all  melted  out  of  her  own. 

"My  joy  !"  she  said,  in  her  full  clear  voice. 

"  Do  you  really  care  for  me  enough,  then,  to  banish  those 
chill  fancies,  or  shall  you  always  be  sus])ecting  me  as  the  Great 
Temi)ter'r'"  said  Tito,  with  his  bright  smile. 

"  llow  should  I  not  care  for  you  more  than  for  every  thing 
else  ?  Every  thing  I  had  felt  before  in  all  my  life — about  my 
father,  and  about  my  loiielincss — was  a  prejtaration  to  love 
you.  You  would  laiigli  at  me,  Tito,  if  you  knew  what  sort  of 
man  I  used  to  think  1  should  marry — some  scholar  with  deep 
lines  in  his  face,  like  Alamanno  Kinuccini,  and  with  rather 
gray  hair,  who  would  agree  with  my  father  in  taking  the  side 
of  the  Aristotelians,  and  be  willing  to  live  with  him.  I  used 
to  think  about  the  love  I  read  of  in  the  poets,  but  I  never 
dreamed  that  any  thing  like  that  could  happen  to  me  here  in 
Florence  in  our  "old  library.  And  then  y<>ti  came,  Tito,  and 
were  so  much  to  my  father,  and  I  began  to  believe  that  life 
could  be  hajijiy  for  me  too.' 

'*]My  goddess!  is  there  any  Avoman  like  you?"  said  Tito, 
Avith  a  niixture  of  fondness  and  wondering  .admiration  at  the 
blended  majesty  and  simi)licity  in  her. 

"  l>ut,  dearest,"  he  went  on,  rallier  timidly,  "  if  you  minded 
more  about  our  marriage  you  would  peisuade  your  iathcr  and 
Messer  liernardo  not  to  think  of  any  more  delays.  But  you 
seem  not  to  mind  about  it." 

"  Yes,  Tito,  1  will,  I  do  mind.  ]>ut  I  am  sure  my  godfather 
will  urge  more  delay  now  because  of  Dino's  death.  lie  liat} 
never  agreed  with  n'ly  father  about  disowning  Dino,  and  you 
know  he  has  always  said  that  we  ought  to  wait  until  you  have 
been  at  least  a  year  in  Florence.  J)o  not  think  hardly  of  my 
godfather.  I  know  he  is  prejudiced  and  narrow,  but  yet  he  is 
very  noble.  He  has  often  said  that  it  is  folly  in  my  father  to 
want  to  kccj)  his  library  apart,  that  it  may  bear  his  name  ;  yet 
he  would  try  to  get  my  father's  wish  carried  out.     That  seems 


EOilOLA.  169 

to  me  very  great  and  noble — tliat  ]50\ver  of  respecting  a  feel- 
ing wliich  he  docs  not  share  or  understand." 

"I  have  no  rancor  against  Messer  Bernardo  for  thinking 
you  too  precious  for  me,  my  Romohi,"  said  Tito ;  and  that 
was  true.     "  But  your  father,  then,  knows  of  his  son's  death  ?" 

''  Yes,  I  told  him — I  could  not  he^p  it — I  told  him  where  I 
had  been,  and  that  I  had  seen  Dino  die ;  but  nothing  else ;  and 
he  has  commanded  me  not  to  speak  of  it  again.  But  he  has 
been  very  silent  this  morning,  and  has  had  those  restless  move- 
m^ents  which  always  go  to  my  heart;  they  look  as  if  he  were 
trying  to  get  outside  the  prison  of  his  blindness.  Let  us  go 
to  him  now.  I  had  persuaded  him  to  try  to  sleep,  because  he 
slept  little  in  the  night.  Your  voice  will  soothe  him,  Tito;  it 
always  does." 

"  And  not  one  kiss?  I  have  not  had  one,"  said  Tito,  in  his 
gentle  reproachful  tone,  Avhich  gave  him  an  air  of  dependeiwe 
very  charming  in  a  creature  with  those  rare  gifts  that  seem  to 
excuse  presumption 

The  sweet  pink  flush  spread  itself  M'ith  the  quickness  of 
light  over  Romola's  face  and  neck  as  she  bent  towards  him.  It 
seemed  impossible  that  their  kisses  could  ever  become  common 
things. 

"  Let  us  -walk  once  Yound  the  loggia^''  said  Roiuola,  "  before 
we  go  down." 

"  There  is  something  grim  and  grave  to  me  always  about 
Florence,"  said  Tito,  as  they  paused  in  the  front  of  the  house, 
where  they  could  see  over  the  opposite  roofs  to  the  other  side 
of  the  river,  "  and  even  in  its  merriment  there  is  something 
shrill  and  hard — biting  rather  than  gay.  I  wish  we  lived  in 
Southern  Italy,  where  tliought  is  broken  not  by  weariness,  but 
by  delicious  languors  such  as  never  seem  to  come  over  the 
'  ingenia  acerrima  Florentina.'  I  should  like  to  see  you  under 
that  southern  sun,  lying  among  the  flowers,  subdued  into  mere 
enjoyment,  while  I  bent  over  you  and  touched  the  lute  and 
sang  to  you  some  little  unconscious  strain  that  seemed  all  one 
with  the  light  and  the  warmth.  You  have  never  known  that 
happiness  of  the  nymphs,  my  Romola." 

"  No,  Tito  ;  but  I  have  dreamed  of  it  often  since  you  came. 
[  ara  very  thirsty  for  a  deep  draught  of  joy — for  a  life  all  bright 
like  you.  But  we  will  not  think  of  it  now,  Tito ;  it  seems  to 
me  as  if  there  would  always  be  pale,  sad  faces  among  tho 
flowers,  and  eyes  that  look  in  vain.     Let  us  go." 

I 


/' 


ItO  KOMOLuV. 


ciiArT?:Ti  xvin. 

THE   PORTRAIT. 

Whex  Tito  left  the  Via  cle'  Bardi  that  day  in  exultant  sat- 
'traction  at  finding  himself  thoroughly  free  from  the  threatened 
•j)eril,  his  tlioiights,  no  longer  claimed  by  the  innnediate  ])re8- 
eiK-e  of  Uomola  and  her  father,  recurred  to  those  futile  liours 
of  dread  in  which  he  was  conscious  of  having  not  only  felt  but 
acted  as  he  would  not  have  done  if  he  had  had  a  truer  fore- 
sight. He  would  not  have  parted  with  his  ring;  for  Komola, 
and  others  to  whonj  it  was  a  familiar  object,  would  be  a  little 
struck  with  the  apparent  sordidness  of  parting  with  a  gem  he 
had  profesvsedly  cherished,  unless  he  feigned  as  a  reason  the 
desire  to  make  some  special  gift  witii  the  purchase-money; 
and  Tito  had  at  that  moment  a  nauseating  weariness  of  simu- 
lation, lie  was  well  out  of  the  possible  consequences  that 
might  Ijavc  fallen  on  him  from  that  initial  deception,  and  it 
was  no  longer  a  load  on  his  mind ;  kind  foitune  had  brought 
him  immunitv,  and  he  thought  it  was  onlv  fair  that  she  sliould. 
Wlio  was  hurt  by  it  ?  Any  results  to  Baldassarre  were  too 
problematical  to  be  taken  into  account.  But  he  wanted  now 
to  be  free  from  any  hitlden  shackles  that  wo\ild  gall  him,  though 
ever  so  little,  imder  liis  ties  to  Komola.  He  was  not  aware 
that  that  very  delight  in  immunity  which  jtromjited  resolu- 
tions not  to  entangle  himself  again  was  deadening  the  sensibil- 
ities which  alone  could  save  him  from  entanglement. 

.  But  after  all  the  sale  of  tlie  ring  was  a  slight  matter.  Was 
it  also  a  slight  matter  that  little  Tessa  was  umler  a  delusion 
which  would  tloubtless  fill  her  small  head  with  expectations 
doomed  to  disappointment?  Should  he  try  to  see  tlie  little 
thing  alone  again  and  undeceive  her  at  once,  or  should  he 
leave  the  disclosure  to  time  and  chance?  Hajipy  dreams 
are  ]»leasant,  and  they  easily  come  to  an  end  with  daylight 
and  the  stir  of  life.  The  sweet,  pouting,  innocent,  round  thing ! 
It  was  impossible  not  to  think  of  her.  Tito  thought  he  should 
like  some  time  to  take  her  a  present  that  would  ])le:ise  her,  and 
just  learn  if  her  stepfather  treated  her  more  cruelly  now  her 
mother  Avas  dead.  Or,  should  he  at  once  imdcceive  Tessa,  and 
then  tell  Boinola  about  her,  so  that  they  might  iiinl  some  luipjiier 
lot  for  the  poor  thing?  No:  that  unfortunate  little  incident 
of  the  cerrcUnio  and  the  marriage,  and  his  allowing  Tessa  to 
part  fron^.  him  in  delusion,  must  never  be  known  to  I'omola. 


ROirOLA.  171 

and  since  no  enlightenment  could  expel  it  from  Tessu's  mind, 
trie  re  would  always  be  a  risk  of  betrayal ;  besides,  even  little 
Tessa  might  have  some  gall  in  her  when  she  found  herself  dis- 
appointed in  her  love — yes,  she  must  be  a  little  in  love  witli 
him,  and  that  might  make  it  well  that  he  should  not  see  her 
again.  Yet  it  was  a  trifling  adventure  such  as  a  country  girl 
would  perhaps  pomler  on  till  some  ruddy  contadino  made  ac- 
ceptable love  to  hei',  M'hen  she  would  break  her  resolution  of 
secrecy  and  get  at  the  truth  that  she  was  free.  Dunqiie — 
good-bye,  Tessa  !  kindest  wishes  !  Tito  had  made  up  his 
mind  that  tlie  siilv  little  affair  of  the  cerratano  should  have 
no  further  consequences  for  himself;  and  people  are  apt  to 
think  that  resolutions  made  on  their  own  behalf  will  be  firm. 
As  for  the  fifty-five  florins,  the  purchase-money  of  the  ring, 
Tito  had  made  up  his  mind  Avhat  to  do  with  some  of  them ; 
he  would  carry  out  a  pretty  ingenious  thought  which  would 
make  him  more  at  ease  in  accounting  for  the  absence  of  his 
ring  to  Romola,  and  would  also  serve  him  as  a  means  of  guard- 
ing her  mind  from  the  recurrence  of  those  monkish  fancies 
which  were  especially  repugnant  to  him ;  and  with  this  thought 
in  his  mind  he  went  to  the  Via  Gualfonda  to  find  Piero 
di  Cosimo,  the  artist  Avho,  at  that  time,  was  pre-eminent  in 
the  fantastic  mythological  design  which  Tito's  purpose  re- 
quired. 

Entering  the  court  on  which  Piero's  dwelling  opened,  Tito 
found  the  heavy  iron  knocker  on  the  door  thickly  bound  round 
with  wool  and  ingeniously  fastened  with  cords.  Remembering 
the  painter's  practice  of  stuffing  his  ears  against  obtrusive 
noises,  Tito  was  not  much  surprised  at  this  mode  of  defense 
against  visitors'  thunder,  and  betook  himself  first  to  tapping 
modestly  with  his  knuckles,  and  then  to  a  more  importunate 
attempt  to  shake  the  door.  In  vain  !  Tito  was  moving  away, 
blaming  himself  for  wasting  his  time  on  this  visit,  instead  of 
waiting  till  he  saw  the  painter  again  at  Xello's,  when  a  little 
girl  entered  the  court  with  a  basket  of  eggs  on  her  arm,  went 
up  to  the  door,  and,  standing  on  tiptoe,  pushed  up  a  small  iron 
plate  that  ran  in  grooves,  and  putting  her  mouth  to  the  aper- 
ture thus  disclosed,  called  out  in  a  piping  voice,  "Messer 
Piero  !" 

In  a  few  moments  Tito  heard  the  sound  of  bolts,  the  door 
opened,  and  Piero  presented  himself  in  a  red  night-cap  and  a 
loose  brown  serge  tunic,  with  sleeves  rolled  up  to  the  shoulder. 
He  darted  a  look  of  surprise  at  Tito,  but  without  further 
notice  of  him  stretched  out  his  hand  to  take  the  basket  from 
the  child,  re-entered  the  house,  and  presently  returning  with 
the  empty  basket,  said,  "  How  much  to  pay  ?'' 


172  KO.MOLA. 

"  Two  grossoni,  Messcr  Piero ;  they  are  all  ready  boiled,  my 
motluT  says." 

rioro  look  the  coin  out  of  the  leathern  scarsclhi  at  his 
belt,  and  the  little  maiden  trotted  away,  not  witliuiit   a  few 
upward  glances  of  awed  admiration  at  the  suqjrising  young 
signor, 
"l^iero's  glance  was  much  less  complimentary  as  he  said, 

"  What  do  you  want  at  my  door,  Messer  Greco  ?  I  saw  you 
this  morning  at  Nello's  ;  if  you  had  asked  me  then,  I  could  have 
told  you  that  1  see  no  man  in  tliis  lionse  without  knowing  ins 
business  and  agreeing  witli  him  boforeliand." 

"  Pardon,  IMesser  Piero,"  said  Tito,  with  his  imjtt'rturbablo 
good-humor;  "I  acted  without  sutlicient  rcllection.  1  re- 
membcMvd  nothing  but  your  admirable  skill  in  inventing  pret- 
ty ca])rices,  when  a  sudden  desire  for  something  of  that  sort 
prompted  me  to  come  to  you." 

The  painter's  manners  were  too  notoriously  odd  to  all  the 
world  for  this  reception  to  be  held  a  special  affront ;  but  eveu 
if  Tito  had  suspected  any  offensive  intention,  the  impulse  to 
resentment  would  have  been  less  strong  in  him  than  the  desire 
to  conquer  good-will. 

Piero  made  a  grimace  which  was  habitual  with  him  Avlien 
he  was  s|)oken  to  witii  flattering  suavity.  He  grinned,  stretch- 
ed out  the  corners  of  his  mouth,  and  ])ressed  down  his  brows, 
so  as  to  defy  any  divination  of  his  feelings  under  tliat  kind  of 
stroking. 

"  Aiid  wliat  may  that  need  be  ?"  he  said,  after  a  moment's 
pause.  In  his  heait  he  was  tempted  by  the  hinted  opportunity 
of  applying  his  invention. 

"  I  want  a  very  delieataminiatui-c  device  taken  from  certain 
fables  of  tlie  poets,  which  you  will  know  how  to  combine  for 
me.  It  must  be  ])ainted  on  a  wooden  case — I  will  show  you 
the  size— in  tlie  form  of  a  triptych.  The  inside  may  be  sim- 
ple gilding:  it  is  on  the  outside  I  want  the  device.  It  is  a  fa- 
vorite subject  with  you  Florentines— the  triiunph  of  IJacchus 
and  Aria<lne  ;  but  I  want  it  treated  in  a  new  way— a  story  in 
Ovid  will  give  you  the  necessary  hints.  The  young  Bacchus 
must  be  seated  in  a  shij),  his  head  bound  with  clusters  of 
grapes,  and  a  spear  entwined  with  vine-leaves  in  his  hand: 
dark-berried  ivy  must  wind  about  the  masts  and  sails,  the  oars 
must  be  thyrsi",  and  flowers  must  wreathe  themselves  about 
the  poop;  leopards  and  tigers  must  be  crouching  before  him, 
and  dolphins  must  be  sporting  round.  UutI  want  to  have  the 
fair-haired  Ariadne  with  hiin,  made  immortal  witli  her  golden 
oi-own- that  is  not  in  Ovid's  story,  but  no  matter,  you  will 
conceive  it  all— and  above  there  must  be  young  loves,  such  as 


ROMOLA.  173 

you  know  iiow  to  paint,  shooting  with  roses  at  the  points  of 
their  arrows — ^" 

"  Say  no  more  !"  said  Piero.  "  I  have  Ovid  in  the  vulgar 
tongue.  Find  me  the  passage.  I  love  not  to  be  choked  with 
other  men's  thoughts.     You  may  come  in." 

Piero  led  the  way  through  the  first  room,  where  a  basket 
of  eggs  was  deposited  on  the  open  hearth,  near  a  heap  of 
broken  egg-shells  and  a  bank  of  ashes.  In  strange  keeuing 
with  that  sordid  litter  there  was  a  low  bedstead  of  carved 
ebony,  covered  carelessly  with  a  piece  of  rich  Oriental  carpet, 
that  looked  as  if  it  had  served  to  cover  the  steps  to  a  Madon- 
na's throne  ;  and  a  carved  cassone,  or  large  chest,  with  paint- 
ed devices  on  its  sides  and  lid.  There  was  hardly  any  other 
furniture  in  the  large  room,  except  casts,  wooden  steps,  easels, 
and  rough  boxes,  all  festooned  with  cobwebs. 

The  next  room  was  still  larger,  but  it  was  also  much  more 
crowded.  Apparently  Piero  was  keeping  the  festa,  for  the 
double  door  underneath  the  window  which  admitted  the  paint- 
er's light  from  above  was  thrown  open,  and  showed  a  garden, 
or  rather  thicket,  in  which  fig-trees  and  vines  grew  in  tangled, 
trailing  wildness  among  nettles  and  hemlocks,  and  a  tall  cy- 
press lifted  its  dark  head  from  a  stifling  mass  of  yellowing 
mulberry-leaves.  It  seemed  as  if  that  dank  luxuriance  had 
begun  to  penetrate  even  within  the  walls  of  the  wide  and  lofty 
room  ;  for  in  one  corner,  amidst  a  confused  heap  of  carved 
marble  fragments  and  rusty  armor,  tufts  of  long  grass  and 
dark  feathery  fennel  had  made  their,  av ay,  and  a  large  stone 
vase,  tilted  on  one  side,  seemed  to  be  pouring  out  the  ivy  that 
streamed  around.  All  about  the  walls  hung  pen  and  oil 
sketches  of  fantastic  sea-monsters  ;  dances  of  satyrs  and  me- 
nads ;  Saint  Margaret's  resurrection  out  of  the  devouring 
dragon ;  Madonnas  with  the  supernal  light  upon  them ;  stud- 
ies of  plants  and  grotesque  heads ;  and  on  irregular  rough 
shelves  a  few  books  Avere  scattered  among  great  drooping 
bunches  of  corn,  bullocks'  horns,  pieces  of  dried  honey-comb, 
stones  with  patches  of  rare-colored  lichen,  skulls  and  bones, 
peacocks'  feathers,  and  large  birds'  wings.  Rising  from 
among  the  dirty  litter  of  the  floor  were  lay  figui'es — one  in 
the  frock  of  a  Vallombrosan  monk,  strangely  surmoimted  by 
a  helmet  with  barred  visor,  another  smothered  with  brocade 
and  skins  hastily  tossed  over  it.  Among  this  heterogeneous 
still-life,  several  speckled  and  white  pigeons  were  perched  or 
strutting,  too  tame  to  fly  at  the  entrance  of  men  ;  three  corpu- 
lent toads  were  crawling  in  an  intimate  friendly  way  near  the 
door-stone  ;  and  a  white  rabbit,  apparently  the  model  for  that 
which  was  frightening  Cupid  in  the  picture  of  Mars  and  Venus, 


1T4  UOMOLA. 

placed  on  the  c<*ntral  easel,  was  twitching  its  nose  witli  much 
content  on  a  box  full  of  bran. 

"  And  now,  Messer  Greco,"  said  Piero,  si^ninij  to  Tito  to 
sit  down  on  a  low  stool  near  the  door,  and-then  slandint;;  over 
Iiim  M-ith  folded  arms,  "don"t  be  trying  to  see  every  thing  at 
onw,  like  Messer  Domeneddio,  but  let  me  know  how  large  you 
would  have  this  same  tri]>tycli." 

Tito  indicated  the  desired  dimensions,  and  Piero  marked 
them  on  a  piece  of  paper. 

"  And  now  for  the  book,"  said  Piero,  reaching  down  a 
manuscript  volume. 

"  There's  nothing  about  tlie  Ariadne  there,"  said  Tito,  giv- 
ing him  the  j)assage :  "  but  you  will  remember  I  want  the 
crowned  Aiiadneby  the  side  of  the  young  Bacchus  ;  she  must 
have  golden  hair." 

"Ha!"  said  Piero,  abruptly,  pursing  up  his  lips  again. 
"  And  you  want  them  to  be  likenesses,  eh  ?"  he  added,  looking 
down  into  Tito's  face. 

Tito  laughed  and  blushed.  "I  know  you  are  great  at  por- 
traits, Messer  Piero  ;  but  I  could  not  ask  Ariadne  to  sit  for  you, 
because  the  painting  is  a  secret." 

"  There  it  is  !  I  want  her  to  sit  to  me.  Giovanni  Vespucci 
wants  me  to  })aint  him  a  picture  of  G^^dijius  and  Antigone  at 
Colonos,  as  he  has  expounded  it  to  me :  I  have  a  fancy  for  the 
subject,  and  I  want  Bardo  and  his  daughter  to  sit  for  it.  Now 
you  ask  them  and  tlien  Fll  ])ut  the  likeness  into  Ariadne." 
^  "Agreed,  if  I  can  prevail  with  them.  And  your  pi-icc  for 
the  Bacchus  and  Ariadne  ?" 

'■'■Bale!  If  you  get  them  to  let  me  paint  them,  that  Avill 
pay  me.  Pd  rather  not  have  your  money:  you  may  pay  for 
the  case." 

"  And  when  sliall  I  sit  for  you  ?"  said  Tito,  "  for  if  we  have 
one  likeness,  we  must  have  two." 

"  I  don't  want  your  likeness — I've  got  it  already,"  said 
Piero,  '■'  only  Fve  made  you  look  frightened.  I  nuist  take  the 
fright  out  of  it  for  Bacchus." 

As  he  was  speaking  Piero  laid  down  the  book  and  wont  to 
look  among  some  paintings  propped  \\\\\\  their  faces  against 
the  wall.      He  returned  with  an  oil-sketch  in  his  haixl. 

"  I  call  this  as  good  a  bit  of  jiortrait  as  I  ever  did,"  he  said, 
looking  at  it,  as  he  advanced.  "  Yours  is  a  face  that  expresses 
fear  well,  because  it's  naturally  a  bright  one.  I  noticed  it  the 
first  time  I  saw  you.  The  rest  of  the  pictiire  is  hardly 
sketcheil;  but  I've  painted  you  in  thorouglily."' 

Piero  turned  the  sketch  and  held  it  towards  Tito's  eyes.  lie 
saw  himself  with  his  right  hand  uplifted,  holding  a  wine-cuj)  in 


ROMOJ-A,  175 

the  allitiidc  of  Iriuraphant  joy,  but  with  his  face  turned  away 
from  the  cup  with  an  expression  of  such  intense  fear  in  the 
dilated  eyes  and  pallid  lips  that  he  felt  a  cold  stream  through 
his  veins  as  if  he  were  being  thrown  into  sympathy  with  his 
imaged  self. 

"  You  are  beginning  to  look  like  it  already,"  said  Piero,  with 
a  short  laugh, moving  the  picture  away  again.  "He's  seeing 
a  ghost — that  fine  young  man.  I  shall  finish  it  some  day, 
when  I've  settled  what  sort  of  ghost  is  the  most  terrible — 
whether  it  should  look  solid,  like  a  dead  man  come  to  life,  or 
half  transparent  like  a  mist," 

Tito,  rather  ashamed  of  himself  for  this  strange  and  sud- 
den sensitiveness,  so  opposed  to  his  usual  easy  self-command, 
said,  carelessly : 

"  Tliat  is  a  subject  after  your  own  heart,  Messer  Piero — a 
revel  intei'rupted  by  a  ghost-  You  seem  to  love  the  blending 
of  the  terrible  with  the  ga^'.  I  suppose  that  is  the  reason  your 
shelves  are  so  well  furnished  with  death's-heads,  while  you  are 
painting  those  roguish  love.s  who  are  running  away  with  the 
armor  of  Mars.  I  begin  to  think  you  are  a  Cynic  philosopher 
in  the  pleasant  disguise  of  a  cunning  painter." 

"  Xot  I,  Messer  Greco ;  a  philosojiher  is  the  last  sort  of  an- 
imal I  would  choose  to  resemble.  I  find  it  enough  to  live, 
without  spinning  lies  to  account  for  life.  Fowls  cackle,  asses 
bray,  women  chatter,  and  philosophei-s  spin  false  reasons — 
that's  the  effect  the  sight  of  the  world  brinijs  out  of  them. 
Well,  I  ara  an  aninial  that  paints  instead  of  cackling,  or  bray- 
ing, or  spinning  lies.  And  now,  I  think,  our  business  is  done^ 
you'll  keep  to  your  side  of  the  bargain  about  the  Q^dipus  and 
Antigone?" 

"  I  will  do  my  best,"  said  Tito — on  this  strong  hint,  imme- 
diately moving  towards  the  door. 

"And  you'll  let  me  know  at  Xello's.  No  need  to  come 
here  again." 

"  I  understand,"  said  Tito,  laughingly,  lifting  his  hand  io 
sign  of  friendly  parting. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


THE    OLD    man's    HOPE. 


Messek  Bernardo  del  Xero  was  as  inexorable  as  Roraola 
had  expected  in  his  advice  that  the  marriage  should  be  defer^ 
red  till  Easter,  and  in  this  matter  Bardo  was  entirely  under 
the  ascendency  of  his  sagacious  and  practical  friend.     Xever- 


ITG  UOMcI.A. 

ihc'less,  lU'inardt)  liiinsi'lf,  lliougli  lie  was  as  far  as  over  from 
any  susccpliliility  to  the  jjersoiial  fascination  in  Tito  ■wliieli 
Avas  felt  by  others,  could  not  altocjether  resist  tliat  argument 
of  success  which  is  always  powerful  with  men  of  the  woi'ld. 
Tito  was  makint;  his  way  rajiidly  in  hii^h  <|narters.  lie  Avas 
osneeiallv  trrowin*;  in  favor  witii  the  vouii'4  Cardinal  (.Jiovanni 
de'  ^Medici,  who  had  even  sjiokcn  of  Tito's  forming  \r.\Yt  of  his 
learned  retinue  on  an  aii])roaching  journey  to  Kome  ;  and  the 
blight  young  Greek,  who  liad  a  tongue  tliat  \vas  always  ready 
withi>ut  ever  being  ([uarrelsome,  was  more  and  more  wished 
for  at  gay  sup[)ers  in  the  Via  Larga,  and  at  Florentine  games 
in  which  he  had  no  pretension  to  excel,  and  could  admire  ihe 
incomparal)le  skill  of  Piero  de'  ^Medici  in  the  most  gra<"efui 
manner  in  the  world.  By  an  unfailing  law  of  sequence,  Tito's 
reputation  as  an  agi-eeable  companion  in  ''  magnificent"  society 
made  his  learning  and  talent  appear  more-  lustrous  ;  and  he 
was  really  accom[jlislied  enough  to  j)revent  an  exaggerated 
estimate  from  being  hazardous  to  him.  IVIesser  Bern.'irdo  had 
old  jUH'judices  and  attacluncnts  m  Inch  now  began  to  argue  down 
the  newer  and  feel.)ler  j^rejudice  against  the  yoimg  Greek 
stranger  who  was  rather  too  supple.  To  the  old  Flcrentiue  it 
Avas  impossible  to  des])ise  the  recommendation  of  standing  Avell 
Avith  the  best  Florentine  families,  and  since  Tito  began  to  be 
thoroughly  received  into  that  circle  whose  views  were  the  un- 
questioned standard  of  social  Aaluc,  it  seemed  irrational  not  to 
acbnit  that  there  was  no  longer  any  check  to  satisfaction  in 
the  ])rospect  of  such  a  son-in-law  for  Jiardo,  and  such  a  husband 
for  Komola.  It  was  undeniable  that  Tito's  comitig  hail  been 
the  dawn  of  a  new  life  for  both  father  and  daughter,  and  the 
first  promise  had  even  been  surpasscnl.  Tlii'  blind  old  scholar 
— whose  proud  truthfulness  would  never  enti'r  into  that  com- 
merce of  feigned  and  prei)osterous  admiration  which,  varied 
by  a  corres|)onding  measurelessness  in  vitupi'ration,  made  the 
Avoof  of  all  learned  intercourse — had  fallen  into  neglect  even 
among  his  fellow-citizens,  and  when  he  was  alluded  to  at  all, 
it  had  long  been  usual  to  say  that  though  his  blindness  and  loss 
of  his  son  were  jiitiable  misfoiluiu^s,  he  was  tiresonu'  in  con- 
tending for  the  value  of  his  own  lal)ors  ;  and  that  liis  discon- 
tent was  a  little  inconsistent  in  a  man  who  had  been  openly 
regardless  cf  religious  rites,  and  in  days  passed  had  reiused 
offers  made  to  him  from  various  quarters,  if  he  would  (Jiily 
take  orders,  without  which  it  was  not  easy  for  patrons  to  pro- 
vide for  every  scholar.  But  since  Tito's  coming  there  was  no 
longer  the  same  monotony  in  the  thought  that  Bardo's  name 
suggested;  the  oM  man,  it  was  understood,  had  left  oft  his 
plaints,  and  the  fair  daughter  was  no  longer  to  be  shut  up  in 


ROMOLA.  177 

Powerless  pride,  waiting  for  ^  parentado.  The  winning  man- 
ners and  growing  favor  of  the  handsome  Greek  wlio  was 
expected  to  enter  into  the  double  relation  of  son  and  husband 
helped  to  make  the  new  interest  a  thoroughly  friendly  one,  and 
it  Avas  no  lons^er  a  rare  occurrence  when  a  visitor  enlivened  the 
({uiet  library.  Elderly  men  came  from  that  indefinite  j^rompt- 
ing  to  renew  former  intercourse  Avhich  arises  when  an  old  ac- 
(luaintance  beijins  to  be  newlv  talked  about :  and  young  men 
wliom  Tito  had  asked  leave  to  bring  once,  found  it  easy  to  go 
again  when  they  overtook  him  on  his  way  to  the  Via  de'  Bardi, 
and,  resting  their  hands  on  his  shoulder,  fell  into  easy  chat  wdth 
Jiim.  For  it  was  pleasant  to  look  at  Romola's  beauty  :  to  see 
her,  like  old  Firenzuola's  type  of  womanly  majesty, "  sitting 
with  a  certain  grandeur,  speaking  with  gravity,  smiling  with 
modesty,  and  casting  around,  as  it  were,  an  odor  of  queeuli- 
ness  ;"*  and  she  seemed  to  unfold  like  a  strong  white  lily  un- 
der this  genial  breath  of  admiration  and  homage ;  it  was  all 
one  to  her  witli  her  new  bright  life  in  Tito's  love. 

Tito  had  even  been  the  means  of  strengthening  the  hope  in 
Bardo's  mind  that  he  might  before  his  death  receive  the  longed- 
for  security  concerning  his  library :  that  it  should  not  be 
merged  in  another  collection ;  that  it  should  not  be  transfer- 
red to  a  body  of  monks,  and  be  called  by  the  name  of  a  mon- 
astery; but  that  it  should  remain  forever  the  Bardi  Library, 
for  the  use  of  Florentines.  For  the  old  habit  of  trusting  in 
th$  Medici  could  not  die  out  while  their  influence  was  still  the 
strongest  lever  in  the  State  ;  and  Tito,  once  possessing  the  ear 
of  the  Cardinal  Giovanni  de'  Medici,  might  do  more  even  than 
Messer  Bernardo  towards  winning  the  desired  interest,  for  he 
could  demonstrate  to  a  learned  audience  the  peculiar  value  of 
Bardo  s  collection.  Tito  himself  talked  sanguinely  of  such  a 
result,  willing  to  cheer  the  old  man,  and  conscious  that  Romola 
repaid  those  gentle  wortls  to  her  father  with  a  sort  of  adora- 
tion that  no  direct  tribute  to  herself  could  have  won  from  her. 

This  question  of  the  library  was  the  subject  of  more  than 
one  discussion  with  Bernardo  del  Nero  when  Christmas  Avas 
turned  and  the  prospect  of  the  marriage  was  becoming  near — 
but  always  out  of  Bardo's  hearing.  For  Bardo  nursed  a  vague 
belief,  which  they  dared  not  disturb,  that  his  property,  apart 
from  the  library,  was  adequate  to  meet  all  demands.  He  would 
not  even,  except  under  a  momentary  pressure  of  angry  de- 
spondency, admit  to  himself  that  the  will  by  Avhichhe  had  dis- 

*  "  Quando  una  donna  e  grande,  ben  formata,  porta  ben  sua  persona,  siede 
con  una  certa  grandezza,  parla  con  gravita,  ride  con  modestia,  e  finalniente 
getta  quasi  un  odor  di  Regina ;  allora  noi  diciamo  quella  donna  pare  una  maesta, 
ella  ha  una  maesta. "-^Firenzuola  :  Delia  Bdlezza  delle  Donne. 


178  KOMOLA. 

iiilieritotl  Dino  would  leave  lloinola  the  heir  of  nothing  hut 
debts ;  or  tliat  he  needed  any  thing  from  patronage  beyond 
the  security  tliat  a  sejxirate  locality  should  l)e  assigned  to  his 
librnrv,  in  return  for  a  deed  of  gift  by  which  he  made  it  over 
to  till'  Florentine  llepublic. 

"  My  opinion  is,"  said  Bernardo  to  Romola,  in  a  consulta- 
tion they  had  under  the  loggia,  "  that  since  you  are  to  be  mar- 
ried, and  .Ak'sscr  Tito  will  have  a  competent  income,  we  shouh! 
begin  to  wind  up  the  affairs,  and  ascertain  exactly  the  sum 
that  would  be  necessary  to  save  the  library  from  being  touched, 
instead  cf  letting  the  debts  accumulate  any  longer.  Your  fa- 
ther needs  nothing  l)u.t  his  shred  of  mutton  and  his  maccaroni 
every  day,  and  I  think  ]Messer  Tito  may  engage  to  supply  that 
for  the  years  that  remain  ;  he  can  let  it  be  in  place  of  thanior- 
gencapy 

"  Tito  has  always  known  that  my  life  is  bound  up  with  my 
father's,"  said  Komola,  flushing;  "  and  he  is  better  to  my  fa- 
ther than  I  am  :  he  delights  in  making  him  happy." 

"Ah,  he's  not  made  of  the  same  clay  as  other  men,  is  he?" 
said  Bernardo,  smiling.  "  Thy  father  has  thought  of  shutting 
woman's  folly  out  of  diee  by  cramming  thee  willi^ Greek  and 
Latin  ;  but  thou  hast  been  a"s  ready  to  believe  in  the  first  pair 
of  bright  eyes  and  the  iirst  soft  Avords  that  have  come  within 
reach  of  thee,  as  if  thou  couldst  say  nothing  by  heart  but  Pa- 
ternosters, like  other  Christian  men's  daughters." 

"  Now,  gotlfather,"  said  IJomola,  shaking  her  head  playful- 
ly," as  if  it  were  only  bright  eyes  and  soft  words  that  made 
me  love  Tito!  You  know  better.  You  know  T  love  my  fa- 
ther and  you  because  you  are  both  good  ;  and  I  love  Tito,  too, 
because  he  is  so  good.'  I  see  it,  I  feel  it,  in  every  thing  he  says 
and  does.  And  he  is  handsome,  too:  why  should  I  not  love 
him  the  better  for  that  ?  It  seems  to  me  beauty  is  ))art  of  the 
finished  latiiiuage  by  which  goodness  speaks,  ^'ou  know //o?< 
must  have  been  a  very  handsome  youth,  godfather " — she 
looked  up  with  one  of  hei'  happy,  loving  smiles  at  the  stately 
old  man — "you  were  about  as  tall  as  Tito,  and  you  had  very- 
fine  eyes  ;  (.mly  you  looked  a  little  sterner  an<l  ])rouder,  and—" 

"And  Romola  likes  to  have  all  the  i)ride  to  lierself  ?"  said 
Bernardo,  not  inaccessible  to  this  pretty  coaxing.  "  However, 
it  is  well  that  in  one  way  Tito's  demands  are  more  modest  than 
those  of  any  Floientinehusband  of  fitting  rank  that  we  should 
have  been  "likely  to  lind  for  you  ;  he  wants  no  dowry." 

80  it  was  settled  in  that  way  between  Messer  Bernardo  del 
Xero,  Komola,  an<l  Tito.  Bardo  assented  with  a  wave  of  the 
liainl  when  Bernardo  told  him  that  he  thought  it  would  be  well 
now  to  begin  to  sell  property  and  clear  off  debts — being  ac* 


ROMOLA,  IVl) 

cnstomed  to  think  of  debts  and  property  as  n  sort  of  thick 
wood  that  his  imagination  never  even  penetrated,  still  less  got 
beyond.  And  Tito  set  about  winning  Messer  Bernardo's  re- 
spect by  inquiring,  with  his  ready  faculty,  into  Florentine 
money-matters,  the  secrets  of  the  Monti  or  public  funds,  the 
values  of  real  property,  and  the  profits  of  banking. 

"  You  will  soon  forget  that  Tito  is  not  a  Florentine,  godfa- 
ther," said  Komola.  "  See  how  he  is  learning  every  thing 
about  Florence  I" 

"  It  seems  to  me  he  is  one  of  the  demoni,  who  are  of  no 
particular  country,  child,"  said  Bernardo,  smiling.  "  His  mind 
is  a  little  too  nimble  to  be  weighted  with  all  the  stuff  we  men 
carry  about  in  our  hearts." 

Komola  smiled  too,  in  happy  confidence. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE    DAY    OF    THE    BETROTHAL. 


It  was  the  last  week  of  the  Carnival,  and  the  streets  of 
Florence  were  at  their  fullest  and  noisiest :  there  Avere  the 
masked  processions,  chanting  songs,  indispensable  now  they 
had  once  been  introduced  by  Lorenzo ;  there  was  the  favorite 
rigoldto,  or  round  dance,  footed  injyiazza  under  the  blue  frosty 
sky;  there  were  practical  jokes  of  all  sorts,  from  throwing 
comfits  to  throwing  stones — especially  stones.  For  the  boys 
and  striplings,  always  a  strong  element  in  Florentine  crowds, 
became  at  the  height  of  carnival  time  as  loud  and  unmanagea- 
ble as  tree-crickets,  and  it  was  their  immemorial  privilege  to 
bar  the  way  with  poles  to  all  passengers,  until  a  tribute  had 
been  paid  towards  furnishing  these  lovers  of  strong  sensations 
with  suppers  and  bonfires;  to  conclude  with  the  standing  en- 
tertainment of  stone-throwing,  which  was  not  entirely  monot- 
onous, since  the  consequent  maiming  was  various,  and  it  was 
not  always  a  single  person  who  was  killed.  So  that  the  pleas- 
ures of  the  Carnival  were  of  a  checkered  kind,  and  if  a  painter 
were  called  upon  to  represent  them  truly,  he  would  have  to 
make  a  picture  in  which  there  would  be  so  much  grossness  and 
barbarity  tliat  it  must  be  tnrned  with  its  face  to  the  wall,  ex- 
cept wlien  it  was  taken  down  for  the  grave  historical  pui-poso 
of  justifying  a  reforming  zeal  which,  in  iirnorauco  oi  tho  facts, 
might  be  unfairly  condemned  for  its  narrowness,  Still  there 
was  much  of  that  more  innocent  picturesque  merriment  which 
is  never  wanting  among  a  people  witl^  quick  animal  spirits 
and  sensitive  organs :  there  was  not  tlie  heavy  sottishness  which 


iHO  KO.MoI.A. 

belongs  to  tin-  tliickir  northern  Mood,  nor  tlie  stoaltliy  fierce, 
ness  wliieh,  in  tlu'  more  southern  regions  of  the  i)eninsuhj, 
makes  the  brawl  lead  t*)  the  dnggei-thrust. 

It  was  the  high  inorning,  hut  the  merry  S|)irits  of  the  Car- 
nival Avere  still  inclined  to  lounge  and  reeapilulate  the  last 
night's  jests,  when  Tito  Meli-ma  was  walking  at  a  brisk  ])ace 
on  tlie  way  to  the  Via  de'  IJardi.  Young  Bernardo  Dovi/j, 
who  now  looks  at  us  out  of  KaphaePs  jiortrait  as  the  keen- 
oyed  Cardinal  da  Hibbiena,  was  with  him ;  and  as  they  went, 
they  held  animated  talk  about  some  subject  that  had  evidently 
no  relation  to  the  sights  and  sounds  through  which  they  were 
j)ushing  their  way  along  tiie  Por'  Santa  ]\Iaria.  Nevertheless, 
as  they  discussed,  smiled,  and  gesticulated,  tliey  botli,  from 
time  to  time,  cast  <juick  glances  arouixl  them,  and  at  the  turn- 
ing toward  the  Lung'  >\.rno,  leading  to  the  l*onte  Kubaconte, 
Tito  had  become  aware,  in  one  of  these  rapid  surveys,  that 
there  was  some  one  not  far  off  him  by  whom  lie  very  much 
vlesired  not  to  lie  recognized  at  that  moment.  His  time  and 
thoughts  were  thoroughly  i>reoccupied,  for  he  was  looking  for- 
ward to  a  unicpie  occasion  in  his  life — he  was  preparing  for 
liis  betrotlial,  which  was  to  take  jtlacc  on  the  evening  of  this 
very  day.  The  ceremony  had  been  resolved  upon  rather  sud- 
denly ;  for  although  preparations  towards  tlie  marriage  had 
been  going  forward  for  some  time — chiefly  in  the  application 
of  Tito's  florins  to  the  fittiiig-upof  rooms  in  Hardo's  (lwellin<jr, 
which,  the  library  e\cei)ted,  had  always  l)een  scantily  furnish- 
ed— it  had  been  intended  to  defer  botli  the  betrothal  and  the 
marriage  until  Easter,  when  Tito's  year  of  probation,  insisted 
on  by  liernardo  del  Nero,  would  have  been  complete.  J5ut 
when  an  express  proposition  had  come  that  Tito  should  follow 
the  Cardinal  (riovaiuii  to  Koine  to  help  liernardo  Dovi/.i  with 
his  superior  knowledge  of  (li'eek  in  arranging  a  library,  and 
there  was  no  i)ossibiliiy  of  declining  what  lay  so  pl.ainly  on  the 
road  to  advancement,  lie  had  become  urgent  in  liis  entreaties 
that  the  betrothal  might  take  ))lace  before  his  departure: 
there  would  be  the  less  delay  before  the  marriage  oji  his 
return,  and  it  would  be  less  j)ainfid  to  part  if  he  and  IJoinola 
>vere  outwardly  as  well  as  inwai-dly  jiledged  to  each  other — if 
he  h;id  a  claim  which  delietl  Messer  J>eriiardo  or  any  one  else 
to  nullify  it.  For  the  betrothal,  at  which  rings  were  e.v- 
changed  and  mutual  contracts  were  signed,  made  more  than 
half  the  legality  of  marriage,  which  was  completed  on  a  sepa- 
rate occasion  f)y  the  miptial  lienediction.  Komola's  feeling 
had  met  Tito's  in  this  wish,  and  the  consent  of  the  elders  had 
been  won. 

And  now  Tito  was  hasteniuir.  amids*.  arrangements  for  liis 


ROMOLA.  181 

departure  tlie  next  clay,  to  snatch  a  morning  visit  to  Romola, 
to  say  and  hear  any  last  words  that  were  needfui  to  be  said 
bel'ore  their  meeting  for  the  betrothal  in  the  evening.  It  was 
not  a  time  when  any  recognition  could  be  pleasant  that  was  at 
all  likely  to  detain  him:  still  less  a  recognition  by  Tessa, 
And  it  was  unmistakably  Tessa  whom  he  had  caught  sight  of 
moving  along,  with  a  timid  and  forlorn  look,  towards  that 
very  turn  of  the  Lung'  Arno  which  he  was  just  rounding. 
As  he  continued  his  talk  with  the  young  Dovizi,he  had  an  un- 
comfortable under-current  of  consciousness  which  told  him 
that  Tessa  had  seen  him  and  would  certainly  follow  him: 
there  was  no  escaping  her  along  this  direct  road  by  the  Arno, 
and  over  the  Ponte  Rubaconte.  But  she  would  not  dare  to 
speak  to  liim  or  approacli  him  while  he  "was  not  alone,  and  he 
would  continue  to  keep  Dovizi  with  him  till  they  reached  Bar- 
do's  door.  He  quickened  his  pace,  and  took  up  new  threads 
of  talk ;  but  all  the  while  the  sense  that  Tessa  ^s^as  behind 
him,  though  he  had  no  physical  evidence  of  tlie  fact,  grew 
stronger  and  stronger;  it  was  very  irritating — perhaps  all  the 
more  so  because  a  certain  tenderness  and  pity  for  the  poor  lit- 
tle thing  made  the  determination  to  escape  without  any  visible 
notice  of  her  a  not  altogether  agreeable  resource.  Yet  Tito 
persevered  and  carried  his  companion  to  the  door,  cleverly 
managing  his  addio  without  turning  his  face  in  a  direction 
where  it  was  possible  for  him  to  see  an  importunate  pair  of 
blue  eyes  :  and  as  he  Avent  up  the  stone  steps,  he  tried  to  get 
rid  of  unpleasant  thoughts  by  sayinij  to  himself  that,  after  all, 
Tessa  might  not  have  seen  him,  or,  if  she  had,  might  not  have 
followed  him. 

But — perhaps  because  that  possibility  could  not  be  relied 
on  strongly — when  the  visit  was  over,  he  came  out  of  the  door- 
way with  a  quick  step  and  an  air  of  unconsciousness  as  to  any 
thing  that  might  be  on  his  right  hand  or  his  left.  Our  eyes 
are  so  constructed,  however,  that  they  take  in  a  wide  angle 
without  asking  leave  of  our  will ;  and  Tito  knew  that  there 
Avas  a  little  figure  in  a  white  hood  standing  near  the  door-way 
— knew  it  quite  well,  before  he  felt  a  hand  laid  on  his  arm. 
It  was  a  real  grasp,  and  not  a  light,  timid  touch ;  for  poor 
Tessa,  seeing  his  rapid  step,  had  started  forward  Avith  a  des- 
perate effort.  But  when  he  stopped  and  turned  towards  her 
her  face  wore  a  frightened  look,  as  if  she  dreaded  the  effect  of 
her  boldness. 

"  Tessa  !"  said  Tito,  with  more  sharpness  in  his  voice  than 
she  had  ever  heard  in  it  before.  "  Why  are  you  here  ?  You 
must  not  follow  me— you  mus*  not  stand  about  door-places 
waitincT  for  me," 


182  UOMOLA. 

Her  blue  eyis  wiileiieil  with  tears,  ami  ^lie  said  iiolliing. 
Tito  was  afraiil  of  soiuethiiiu:  worse  than  lidieiile  if  lie  were 
seen  in  the  V'ui  tie'  Uardi  with  a  ijirlish  contadiiia  lookini;  ])a- 
tlieticallv  at  him.  It  was  a  street  of  high,  sileiit-lookiiit;  dwell- 
ings, not  of  trallic  ;  hut  InTnardo  del  Nero,  or  some  one  almost 
as  dan«j;erous,  niij^ht  eome  iqi  at  any  monu-nt.  Even  if  it  had 
not  been  tlu;  day  of  his  betrothal,  the  incident  would  have 
been  awkward  and  amioyini^.  Yet  it  would  be  brutal — it 
■■Aas  im]>ossible — to  drive  Tessa  away  with  harsh  words.  That 
accursed  folly  of  his  with  the  ccrretano — that  it  should  have  lain 
JMnieil  in  a  (piiet  way  for  months,  and  now  start  up  before 
him,  as  this  unseasonable  crop  of  vexatioi; !  lie  could  not 
8peak  harshly,  but  he  spoke  liurricdly. 

"  Tessa,  I  can  not — must  not  talk  to  you  licre.  I  will  go 
on  to  the  bridge  and  wait  for  you  there.     Follow  me  slowly." 

He  tuined  and  walked  fast  to  the  Ponte  liubaconte,  atul 
there  leaned  against  the  wall  of  one  of  the  quaint  little  houses 
that  rise  at  even  distances  on  the  bridge,  looking  towards  the 
way  by  which  Tessa  would  come.  It  would  have  softened  a 
much  harder  heart  than  Tito's  to  sec  the  little  thing  advancing 
with  her  round  face  much  jjaled  and  saddened  since  he  had 
parted  from  it  at  the  door  of  the  "•  Xunziata."  IIai)i>ily  it 
was  the  least  frequented  of  the  bridges,  and  there  were  scarce- 
ly any  passengers  on  it  at  this  moment.  He  lost  no  time  ij^ 
speaking  as  soon  as  she  came  near  him. 

"  Now,  Tessa,  I  have  very  little  time.  You  must  not  cry. 
Why  did  you  follow  me  this  morning  ?  You  must  not  do  so 
again."' 

"  I  thought,"  said  Tessa,  sjx'aking  in  a  Avhispor,  and  strug- 
gling atrainst  a  sob  that  would  rise  immediately  at  this  new 
voice  of  Tito's — "  I  thought  you  wouldn't  be  so  long  before 
you  came  to  take  care  of  me  again.  And  the  p'i(r/'t//io  beats 
me,  and  1  can't  bear  it  any  longer.  And  always  when  I  come 
for  a  holiday  I  walk  about  to  find  you,  and  I  can't.  Oh,  i)lease 
don't  send  *me  away  from  you  again  !  It  has  been  so  long, 
anil  I  cry  so  now,  because  you  ni'Ver  come  to  me.  I  can't  help 
it,  for  the  days  are  so  long,  ami  I  don't  mind  about  the  goats 
or  kills,  or  any  thing — and  I  can't — " 

The  sobs  came  fast  now,  and  the  great  tears.  Tito  felt  that 
fic  could  not  do  otherwise  than  comfort  her.  Send  her  away 
— yes;  that  he  )/n/.'<t  do,  at  once.  But  it  was  all  the  more 
impossible  to  tell  her  any  thing  that  would  leave  her  in  a  state 
of  hojieless  grief.  He  saw  new  trouble  in  the  background, 
but  the  difficulty  of  the  moment  was  too  pressing  for  him  to 
weigh  conseijuences. 

"Tcs.sa,  my  little  one,"  he  said,  in  his  old  caressing  toncH, 


llOlilOI.A,  183 

"  you  must  not  cry.  Bear  with  the  cross  patrif/no  a  little 
loiiofer.  I  will  come  back  to  you.  But  I'm  ooino-  now  to 
Rome — a  long,  long  M'ay  off.  I  shall  come  back  in  a  few 
weeks,  and  then  I  promise  you  to  come  and  see  you.  Prom- 
ise me  to  be  good  and  wait  for  me." 

It  was  the  well-remembered  voice  again,  and  the  mere  sound 
was  half  enough  to  soothe  Tessa.  She  looked  up  at  him  with 
W'ide  trusting  eyes,  that  still  glittered  with  tears,  sobbing  all 
the  while,  in  spite  of  her  iitmost  efforts  to  obey  him.  Again 
he  said,  in  a  gentle  voice, 

"  Promise  me,  my  Tessa." 

"  Yes,"  she  wliispered.     "  But  you  won't  be  long  ?" 

"  No,  not  lono;.  But  I  must  go  now.  And  remember  what 
I  told  you,  Tessa.  Nobody  must  know  that  you  ever  see  me, 
else  you  will  lose  me  forever.  And  now,  when  I  have  left  you, 
go  straiglit  home,  and  never  follow  me  again.  Wait  till  I 
come  to  you.     Good-bye,  my  little  Tessa  :  I  icill  come." 

There  was  no  liclp  for  it ;  he  must  turn  and  leave  her  with- 
out looking  beliind  liim  to  see  hov/  she  bore  it,  for  he  had  no 
time  to  spare.  When  he  did  look  i-ound  he  was  in  the  Via 
de'  Benci,  where  there  was  no  seeing  Avhat  was  happening  on 
the  bridge  ;  but  Tessa  Avas  too  trusting  and  obedient  not  to 
do  just  wliat  he  had  told  her. 

Yes,  the  difficulty  was  at  an  end  for  that  day ;  yet  this  re- 
turn of  Tessa  to  liim,  at  a  moment  when  it  was  impossible  for 
liinl  to  put  an  end  to  all  difficulty  with  her  by  undeceiving  lier, 
was  an  unpleasant  incident  to  carry  in  his  memory.  But  Tito's 
mind  was  just  now  tlioroughly  penetrated  with  a  hopeful  first 
love,  associated  with  all  happy  prospects  flattering  to  his  am- 
bition ;  and  that  future  necessity  of  grieving  Tessa  could  be 
scarcely  more  to  him  than  the  far-off  cry  of  some  little  suffer- 
ing animal  buried  in  the  thicket  to  a  merry  cavalcade  in  the 
sunny  plain.  When,  for  the  second  time  tliat  day,  Tito  was 
hastening  across  the  Ponte  Rubaconte,  the  thouo;ht  of  Tessa 
caused  no  perceptible  diminution  of  his  happiness.  He  was 
well  muffled  in  his  mantle,  less,  perhaps,  to  protect  him  from 
the  cold  than  from  the  additional  notice  that  would  have  been 
drawn  upon  him  by  his  dainty  apparel.  He  leaped  up  the 
stone  steps  by  two  at  a  time,  and  said  hurriedly  to  Maso,  M-ho 
met  him, 

"  Where  is  the  damigella  ?" 

"  In  the  library ;  she  is  quite  ready,  and  Monna  Brigida 
and  Messer  Bernardo  are  already  there  Avith  Ser  Braccio,  but 
none  of  the  rest  of  the  company." 

"  Ask  her  to  give  me  a  few  minutes  alone ;  I  will  await  her 
in  the  salotto.^^ 


184  UOMOLA. 

Tito  entered  a  room  wliicli  liiid  been  iilted  up  in  tlie  ut- 
most contrast  witli  the  half-pallid  lialt'-sondore  tints  of  the  li- 
brary. The  walls  were  briiihtlv  frescoed  with  "cai)rices"  of 
nyin[)hs  and  loves  sportintj  uiuU'r  the  blue  atnous^  flowers  and 
birds.  The  only  fuiniture  l»esides  the  red  leatliur  seats  and 
the  central  table  were  two  tall  white  vases,  and  a  youn<;  faun 
playing  the  flute,  modelled  by  a  i)r<)mising  youth  named  Michel- 
angelo Buonarotti.  It  was  a  room  that  gave  a  sense  of  being 
in  the  sunny  open  air, 

Tito  kept  his  mantle  round  liim,  and  looked  towards  the 
door.  It  was  not  long  l)efore  Komola  entered,  all  wliite  and 
gold,  more  tlian  ever  like  a  tall  lily.  Her  white  silk  garment 
was  bound  by  a  golden  girdle,  which  fell  with  large  tassels; 
and  above  that  was  the  rippling  gold  of  her  hair,  surmounted 
by  the  white  mist  of  her  long  veil,  which  was  fastened  on  her 
brow  i)y  a  band  of  pearls,  the  gift  of  Bernardo  del  Nero, 
and  was  now  jjarted  off  her  face  so  that  it  all  floated  back- 
ward. 

•'  Meglna  mia  P''  said  Tito,  as  lie  took  her  luuul  anil  kissed 
it,  still  keeping  his  mantle  round  him.  He  could  not  lielo 
going  backward  to  look  at  her  again,  while  she  stood  in  calm 
delight,  M'ith  that  exquisite  self-consciousness  which  rises 
under  the  gaze  of  admiring  love. 

"  Komola,  will  you  show  me  the  next  room  now  ?"  said 
Tito,  checking  himself  with  the  remembrance  that  the  time 
might  be  short.  "  You  said  I  should  see  it  when  you  had  ar- 
ranged every  thing." 

Without  speaking  slie  led  the  way  into  a  long  narrow  room, 
painted  brightly  Wkv  the  other,  but  only  with  bii-ds  an<l  flow- 
ers. The  furniture  in  it  was  all  old  ;  there  were  old  faded  ob- 
jects for  feminine  use  or  ornament,  arranged  in  an  open  cabi- 
net between  the  two  narrow  wiinhnvs  ;  above  the  cabinet  was 
the  portrait  of  IJomohrs  mother;  and  below  this,  on  the  top 
of  tlie  cabinet,  stood  the  crucifix,  which  Ilomola  had  brought 
from  San  Marco. 

"  I  have  brouglit  soniofhing  under  my  mantle,"  snid  Tito, 
binding;  and  throwing  off  the  large  loose  garment,  he  showed 
the  little  tabernacle  Avhich  had  been  ])ainted  by  Piero  di  Cosi- 
mo.  The  jtainter  had  carried  outTito''s  intention  charmingly, 
and  so  far  li.id  ;itoned  for  his  long  <h'lay.  '*  Do  you  know 
what  this  is  for,  my  Komola?"  added  Tito,  taking  her  by  the 
hand,  and  lea<lirig  her  towards  the  cabinet.  "  It  is  a  little 
shrine,  which  is  to  hide  away  from  you  forever  that  remem- 
branciT  of  sadness.  Von  have  done  with  sa<lness  now  ;  and 
we  will  bury  all  images  of  it — bury  them  in  a  tomb  of  joy. 
See !" 


ROMOLA.  185 

A  slight  quivei"  passed  across  Romola's  face  as  Tito  took 
hold  of  the  crucifix.  But  she  had  no  wish  to  prevent  his  pur- 
pose; on  the  contrary,  she  herself  wished  to  subdue  certain 
importunate  memories  and  questionings  which  still  flitted  like 
unexplained  shadows  across  her  happier  thought. 

He  opened  the  triptych  and  placed  the  crucifix  within  the 
central  space ;  then  closing  it  again,  taking  out  the  key,  and 
petting  the  Uttle  tabernacle  in  the  spot  where  the  crucifix  had 
stood,  said  : 

"  Now,  Romola,  look  and  see  if  vou  are  satisfied  with  the 
portraits  old  Piero  has  made  of  us.  Is  it  not  a  dainty  device  ? 
and  the  credit  of  choosing  it  is  mine." 

"Ah,  it  is  you — it  is  jDcrfect !"  said  Romola,  looking  with 
moist  joyful  eyes  at  the  miniature  Bacchus,  with  his  purple 
clusters.  "And  I  am  Ariadne,  and  you  are  crowning  me! 
Yes,  it  is  true,  Tito ;  you  have  crowned  my  poor  life." 

They  held  each  other's  hands  while  she  spoke,  and  both 
looked  at  their  imaged  selves.  But  the  reality  was  far  more 
beautiful;  she  all  lily-white  and  golden,  and  he  with  his  dark 
glowing  beauty  above  the  purple  red-bordered  tunic. 

"  And  it  was  our  good  strange  Piero  who  painted  it  ?"  said 
Romola.  "  Did  you  put  it  into  his  head  to  paint  me  as  Antig- 
one, that  he  might  have  my  likeness  for  this  ?"  ~-— «• 

"Xo,  it  was  he  wlio  made  my  getting  leave  for  him  to  paint 
you  and  your  father  a  condition  of  his  doing  this  for  me." 

"  Ah,  I  see  now  what  it  was  you  gave  up  your  precious 
ring  for.  I  perceived  you  had  some  cunning  plan  to  give  me 
pleasure." 

Tito  did  not  blench.  Romola's  little  illusions  about  himself 
had  long  ceased  to  cause  him  any  thhig  but  satisfaction.  He 
only  smiled  and  said  : 

"  I  might  have  spared  my  ring  ;  Piero  Avill  accept  no  money 
from  me;  he  thinks  himself  paid  by  painting  you.  And  now, 
while  I  am  away,  you  will  look  every  day  at  those  pretty  sym- 
bols of  our  life  together— the  ship  on  the  calm  sea,  and  the  ivy 
that  never  withei-s,  and  those  Loves  that  have  left  off  wound- 
ing us  and  shower  soft  petals  that  are  like  our  kisses ;  and  the 
leopards  and  tigers,  they  are  the  troubles  of  your  life  that  are 
all  quelled  now ;  and  the  strange  sea-monsters,  Avith  their  mer- 
iy  eyes — let  us  see — they  are  the  dull  passages  in  the  heavy 
books,  which  have  begun  to  be  amusing  since  we  have  sat  by 
each  other." 

'•^Tito  mioP''  said  Romola, in  a  half  laughing  voic<3  of  love; 
"but  you  will  give  me  the  key?"  she  added,  holdiiig  out  her 
hand  for  it. 

"  Not  at  all !"  said  Tito,  with  playful  decision,  opening  his 


1 80  noMOLA. 

scarsc'lla  siid  Jroi>})iiig  in  the  little  key.     "I  shall  drown  it  in 
the  Arno." 

"  lint  if  I  ever  wanted  to  look  at  the  crucifix  aixain?'" 

"  Ah  !  for  that  very  reason  it  is  hidden — hidclen  by  these 
iniaijes  of  youth  and  joy," 

He  pressed  a  liLcht  kiss  on  her  brow,  and  she  said  no  more, 
ready  to  snlunit,  like  all  strong  souls,  when  she  felt  no  valid 
reason  for  resistance. 

And  then  they  joined  the  waiting  company,  which  made  a 
dignified  little  ))rocession  as  it  ])assed  along  the  Pont*'  liuba- 
conte  towards  Santa  Croce.  Slowly  it  passed,  for  Hardo,  un- 
accustomed for  years  to  leave  his  own  house,  walkctl  with  a 
more  timid  step  than  usual;  and  that  slow  pace  suited  well 
with  the  gouty  dignity  of  Messer  liartolommeo  Scala,  who 
graced  the  occasion  by  his  presence,  along  with  his  daughter 
Alessandra.  It  was  customary  to  have  very  long  troops  of 
kindred  and  friends  at  the  sposalizio,  ov  betrothal,  and  it  had 
even  been  found  necessary  in  time  past  to  limit  the  number  by 
la\\  to  no  more  \\v.in  Jour  handred — two  hundred  on  each  side  ; 
for  since  the  guests  were  all  feasted  after  this  initial  ceremo- 
ny, as  well  as  after  the  nozzc,  or  marriage,  the  very  first  stage 
of  matrimony  had  l)ecome  a  ruinous  expense,  as  that  scholarly 
Benedict,  Leonardo  Bruno,  complained  in  his  own  case.  But 
Bardo,  who  in  his  poverty  had  kept  himself  ])roudly  free  from 
any  appearance  of  claiming  the  advantages  attached  to  a  |)Ow- 
erful  family  name,  would  have  no  invitations  given  on  the 
strength  of  mere  friendship;  and  the  modest  procession  of 
twenty  that  followed  the  s^yosi  were,  with  three  or  four  excep- 
tions, friends  of  l>ardo's  and  Tito's,  selected  on  personal 
grounils. 

Bernardo  del  Nero  walked  as  a  vanguard  before  Bardo, 
who  was  led  on  the  right  by  Tito,  while  Bomola  held  her  fa- 
ther's other  hand.  Bardo  had  himself  been  married  at  Santa 
Croce,  and  had  insisted  on  Bomohrs  Ijeing  betrothed  and  mar- 
ried there  rather  than  in  the  little  church  of  Santa  Lucia  close 
by  their  house,  because  he  had  a  comiilcte  mental  vision  of  the 
grand  church  where  he  hoped  that  a  burial  might  be  granted 
him  among  the  Florentines  who  had  deserved  well.  Happily 
che  way  was  short  and  direct,  and  lay  aloof  from  tlie  lou<lest 
riot  of  the  Carnival,  if  only  they  covild  return  before  any 
dances  or  shows  began  in  the  great  piazza  of  Santa  Croce.  The 
west  was  red  as  they  passed  the  bridge,  and  shed  a  mellow 
light  on  the  pretty  proce.'^sion,  which  ha<l  a  touch  of  solemnity 
in  the  presence  of  the  bliml  father.  But  when  the  ceremony 
w.as  over,  and  Tito  and  Komola  came  out  on  to  the  broad  steps 
of  the  church,  with  the  golden  links  of  destiny  on  their  lingers, 


ROMOLA.  187 

the  evening  had  deepened  into  struggling  starlight  and  the 
servants  had  their  torches  lit. 

As  they  came  out,  a  strange  dreary  cliant,  as  of  a  Miserere 
met  their  ears,  and  they  saw  that  at  the  extreme  end  of  the 
jsiazza  there  seemed  to  be  a  stream  of  jieople  impelled  bv 
something  approaching  from  the  Borgo  de'  Greci. 

"It  is  one  of  their  masked  processions,  I  suppose,"  said 
Tito,  who  was  now  aloue  with  Komola,  while  Bernardo  took 
charge  of  Bardo. 

And  as  he  spoke  there  came  slowly  into  view,  at  a  height 
far  above  the  heads  of  the  on-lookers,  a  huge  and  gliastly  image 
of  Winged  Time  Avith  his  scythe  and  hour-glass,  surrounded  by 
his  winged  children,  the  Hours.  He  was  mounted  on  a  high 
car  completely  covered  with  black,  and  the  bullocks  tliat  drew 
the  car  were  also  covered  with  black,  their  horns  alone  stand- 
ing out  white  above  the  gloom ;  so  that  in  the  sombre  shadow 
of  the  houses  it  seemed  to  those  at  a  distance  as  if  Time  and 
his  children  were  apparitions  floating  through  the  air.  And 
behintl  them  came  Avhat  looked  like  a  troop  of  the  sheeted 
dead  gliding  above  blackness.  And  as  they  glided  slowly 
they  chanted  in  a  wailing  strain. 

A  cold  horror  seized  on  Romola,  for  at  the  first  moment  it 
seemed  as  if  her  brother's  vision,  which  could  never  be  effaced 
from  her  mind,  was  beinsf  half  fulfilled.  She  cluno;  to  Tito, 
who,  divining  what  was  in  her  thoughts,.i!aid  : 

"  What  dismal  fooling  sometimes  pleases  your  Florentines  ! 
Doubtless  this  is  an  invention  of  Piero  di  Cosinio,  who  loves 
such  grim  merriment." 

"Tito,  I  wish  it  had  not  happened.  It  will  deepen  the  im- 
ages of  tliat  vision  which  I  would  fain  be  rid  of." 

"  Nay,  Romola,  you  will  look  only  at  the  images  of  our 
happiness  now.     I  have  locked  all  sadness  away  from  you." 

"  But  it  is  still  there — it  is  only  hidden,"  said  Romola,  in  a 
low  tone,  hardly  conscious  that  she  spoke. 

"  See,  they  are  all  gone  now  !"  said  Tito.  "  You  \\W\  for- 
get this  ghastly  mummery  when  we  are  in  the  light  and  can 
see  each  other's  eyes.  My  Ariadne  must  never  look  backward 
now  —  only  forward  to  Easter,  when  she  will  triumph  with 
lier  Care-dispeller," 


188  ,  liOMOLA. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

FLORENCE   EXPECTS    A    GUEST. 

It  was  the  seventeenth  of  NoveinV)er,  1494  :  more  tlmn 
eighteen  nionths  since  Tito  and  llomolu  liad  been  finally  united 
in  the  joyous  Easter  time,  and  had  had  a  rainbow-tinted  shower 
of  comforts  tin-own  over  them,  after  the  ancient  (ireck  fashion, 
in  token  that  the  heavens  would  shower  sweets  on  them  through 
all  their  double  life. 

Since  that  Easter  time  a  great  change  had  come  over  the 
prospects  of  Florence;  and  as  in  tiie  tree  that  bears  a  myriad 
of  blossoms,  each  single  butl  with  its  fruit  is  dej>endent  on  the 
primary  circulation  of  the  sap,  so  the  fortunes  of  Tito  and  Ivo- 
mola  were  dependent  on  certain  gran<l  political  and  social  con- 
ditions which  made  an  epoch  in  the  history  of  Italy. 

In  this  very  November,  little  more  than  a  week  ago,  the 
spirit  of  the  old  centuries  seemed  to  have  re-entered  the  breasts 
of  Florentines.  The  great  bell  in  the  Palace  tower  had  rimg 
out  the  hammer-sound  of  alarm,  and  the  people  had  inustered 
Avith  their  rusty  arms,  their  tools,  and  impromptu  cudgels  to 
drive  out  the  ^Nledici.  The  gate  of  San  Gallo  had  l»een  fairly 
shut  on  the  arrogant,  exas])erating  Piero,  galloping  away  to- 
wards l^ologna  with  his  hired  horsemen  frightened  behind  him, 
and  on  his  keener  young  brother,  the  cardijial,  escaping  in 
the  disguise  of  a  Franeiscan  monk  ;  and  a  ))rice  had  been  set 
on  their  heads.  ^\fter  that  there  had  been  some  sacking  of 
houses,  according  to  old  precedent ;  the  ignominious  images, 
painted  on  the  ))ublic  buildings,  of  the  men  who  had  cons})ire(l 
against  the  ^Tedici  in  days  gone  by,  were  eflared  ;  the  exiled 
enemies  of  the  Mi'dici  were  invited  home.  The  half-Hedged 
tyrants  were  fairly  out  of  their  splendid  nest  in  the  Via  Larga, 
and  the  liepublic.  had  recovenvl  the  use  of  its  Mill  again. 

Jiut  now,  a  week  later,  the  great  palace  in  the  A'ia  Larga  had 
been  prepared  for  the  reception  of  another  tenant ;  and  if 
drapery  roofing  the  streets  with  unwonted  color,  if  banners 
and  hangings  |)ouring  out  fioin  the  windows,  if  carpets  and 
tapestry  stretclied  over  all  steps  and  pavement  where  excep- 
tiomil  feet  might  tre.id,  were  an  uncpiestionable  proof  of  joy, 
Florence  was  very  joyful  in  the  e\pect:iti')n  of  its  new  guest. 
The  stream  of  coloi-  flowed  from  the  Palace  in  the  \'ia  Larga 
round  bv  the  CathiMlral,  then  bvthe  irreat  Piazza  della  Si<j:noria, 
and  across  the  Ponti-  \'<iTliio  to  tln'  Porta  San  Frediano — the 


ROMOLA.  189 

gate  that  looks  towards  Pisa.  There,  near  the  gate,  a  phit- 
forin  and  canopy  had  been  erected  for  the  Signoria  ;  and  Mes- 
ser  Luca  Corsini,  doctor  of  law,  felt  his  heart  palpitating  a 
little  with  the  sense  that  he  liad  a  Latin  oration  to  read  ;  and 
every  chief  elder  in  Florence  had  to  make  himself  ready,  with 
smooth  chin  and  well-liTicd  silk  Incco,  to  Avalk  in  procession  ; 
and  the  well-born  youths  were  looking  at  their  rich  new  tunics 
after  the  French  mode,  which  was  to  impress  the  stranger  as 
having  a  peculiar  grace  when  worn  by  Florentines  ;  and  a 
large  body  of  the  clergy,  from  the  archbishop  in  his  effulgence 
to  t,he  train  of  monks^  black,  Avhite,  and  gray,  were  consulting 
by  times  in  the  morning  how  they  should  marshal  themselves, 
with  their  burden  of  relics,  and  saci-ed  bannei's,  and  consecrated 
jewels,  that  their  movements  might  be  adjusted  to  the  expected  . 
arrival  of  the  illustrious  visitor  at  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 

An  unexampled  visitor!  For  he  had  come  through  the 
passes  of  the  Alps  with  such  an  army  as  Italy  had  not  seen 
before  :  Avith  thousands  of  terrible  Swiss,  well  used  to  fight 
for  love  and  hatred  as  well  as  for  hire ;  with  a  host  of  gallant 
cavaliers  proud  of  a  name  ;  with  an  unprecedented  infantry, 
in  which  every  man  in  a  hundred  carried  an  arquebuse ;  nay, 
with  cannon  of  bronze  shooting  not  stones  but  iron  balls,  drawn 
not  by  bullocks  but  by  horses,  and  capable  of  tiring  a  second 
time  before  a  city  could  mend  the  breach  made  by  the  first 
ball.  Some  compared  the  new-comer  to  Charlemagne,  reputed 
rebuilder  of  Florence,  welcome  conqueror  of  degenerate  kings, 
regulator  and  benefactor  of  the  Church  ;  some  preferred  the 
comparison  to  Cyrus,  liberator  of  the  chosen  people,  restorer 
of  the  Temple,  For  he  had  come  across  the  Alps  with  the 
most  glorious  projects:  he  was  to  march  through  Italy  amidst 
the  jubilees  of  a  grateful  and  admiring  people  ;  he  was  to  sat- 
isfy all  conflicting  complaints  at  Rome  ;  he  was  to  take  pos- 
session, by  virtue  of  hereditary  right  and  a  little  fighting,  of 
the  kingdom  of  Naples  ;  and  from  that  convenient  starting- 
point  he  was  to  set  out  on  the  conquest  of  the  Turks,  M'ho  were 
partly  to  be  cut  to  pieces  and  partly  converted  to  the  faith  of 
Christ.  It  was  a  scheme  that  seemed  to  befit  the  Most  Chris- 
tian King,  head  of  a  jiation  which,  thanks  to  the  devices  of  a 
subtle  Louis  the  Eleventh,  who  had  died  in  much  fright  as  to 
his  personal  prospects  ten  years  before,  had  become  the  strong- 
est of  Christian  monarchies  ;  and  this  antitype  of  Cyrus  and 
Charlemagne  was  no  other  than  the  son  of  that  subtle  Louis 
— the  young  Charles  the  Eighth  of  France. 

Surely,  on  a  general  statement,  hardly  any  thing  could  seem 
more  grandiose,  or  fitter  to  revive  in  the  breasts  of  men  the 
menriory  of  great  dispensations  by  which  new  strata  had  been 


190  ROMOLA, 

laid  in  tlie  liistory  of  mankind.  And  tliere  was  a  very  widely 
spread  conviction  tliat  the  advent  of  tlie  French  Kini^  anil  his 
army  into  Italy  was  one  of  tliose  events  at  whidi  mai"blc  stat- 
ues mit^ht  well  be  believed  to  ])ers])ire,  ]>hanta.smal  fiery  war- 
riors to  flight  in  the  air,  and  (juadrupeds  to  brinjj;  forth  mon- 
strous births — that  it  did  not  belong  to  the  usual  order  of 
Providence,  l)ut  was  in  a  peculiar  sense  the  work  of  (Jod.  It 
was  a  conviction  that  rested  less  on  the  necessarily  momentous 
ciiaracter  of  a  powerful  foreign  invasion  than  on  certain  mor- 
al emotions  to  which  the  asj)cct  of  tlie  times  gave  the  form  of 
presentiments — emotions  which  had  found  a  very  remarkable 
utterance  in  the  voice  of  a  single  man. 

That  man  was  Fra  Girolamo  Savonarola,  Prior  of  the  Do- 
minican convent  of  San  Marco  in  Florence.  On  a  September 
morning,  when  men's  ears  were  ringing  with  the  news  that  the 
Frencli  army  had  entered  Italy,  he  had  preached  in  the  Cathe- 
dral of  Florence  from  the  text,"  IJehold,  I,  even  I,  do  bring  a 
flood  of  waters  iipon  the  earth."  He  believed  it  was  by  su- 
preme guidance  that  he  had  reached  just  so  far  in  his  exposi- 
tion of  Genesis  the  previous  Lent;  and  he  believed  the  "  flood 
of  waters  " — emblem  at  once  of  avenging  wrath  and  ])urifying 
mercy — to  be  the  divinely  indicated  symbol  of  the  French  army. 
His  audience,  some  of  whom  were  held  to  be  among  the  choicest 
spirits  of  the  age — the  most  cultivated  men  in  the  most  cult  i  vated 
of  Italian  cities— believed  it  too,  and  listened  with  shuddering 
awe.  For  this  man  had  a  power,  rarely  j)aralleled,  of  impressmg 
his  beliefs  on  others,  and  of  swaying  very  various  minds.  And 
as  long  as  four  years  ago  he  had  jn-oclain^-y'd  from  the  chief  ]>ul- 
pit  of  Florence  that  a  scourge  was  about  to  descend  on  Italy, 
and  that  by  this  scourge  the  Church  was  to  be  purified.  Savona- 
rola believed,  and  his  hearers  more  or  less  waveringly  believed, 
that  he  had  a  mission  like  that  of  the  Hebrew  prophets,  and 
that  the  Florentines  among  whom  his  message  was  delivered 
were  in  some  sense  a  second  chosen  peoi)le.  The  idea  of  pro- 
phetic gifts  was  not  a  remote  one  in  that  age  :  seers  of  vis- 
ions, circumstantial  heralds  of  things  to  be,  were  far  from  un- 
eonunon  either  outside  or  inside  the  cloister;  but  tbis  very 
fact  made  Savonarola  stand  out  the  more  conspicuously  as  a 
grand  exc('|)tion.  While  in  others  llu>  gift  of  prophecy  was 
very  much  like  a  farthing  candle  illuminating  small  corners  of 
human  destiny  with  ])rophetic  gossip,  in  Savonarola  it  was 
like  a  mighty  beacon  shining  far  out  for  the  warning  and  guid- 
ance of  men.  And  to  sonu'  of  the  soberest  min<ls  the  super- 
natural ch.aracter  of  his  insight  into  the  future  gathered  a 
strong  attestation  from  the  peculiar  conditions  of  the  age. 

At  the  clo.se  of  1492,  the  year  in  which  Lorenzo  de'  Medici 


ilOMOLA.  19] 

dfed,  and  Tito  Melema  came  as  a  v\'anderer  to  Florence,  Italy 
was  enjoying  a  peace  and  prosperity  unthreatened  by  any 
near  and  definite  danger.  There  was  no  fear  of  famine,  for 
the  seasons  had  been  plenteous  in  corn,  and  wine,  and  oil ; 
new  palaces  had  been  rising  in  all  fair  cities,  new  villas  on 
pleasaTit  slopes  and  summits  ;  and  the  men  who  had  moi-e 
than  their  share  of  these  good  things  were  in  no  fear  of  the 
larger  number  who  had  less.  For  the  citizens'  armor  Avas 
getting  rusty,  and  populations  seemed  to  have  become  tame, 
licking  the  hands  of  masters  who  paid  for  a  ready-made  army', 
when  they  wanted  it,  as  they  paid  for  goods  of  Smyrna. 
Even  the  fear  of  the  Turk  had  ceased  to  be  active,  and  the 
Pope  found  it  more  immediately  profitable  to  accejjt  bribes 
from  him  for  a  little  prospective  poisoning  than  to  form  plans 
either  for  conquering  or  for  converting  him. 

Altogether,  this  world,  with  its  partitioned  empire  and  it? 
roomy  universal  Church,  seemed  to  be  a  handsome  establish- 
ment for  the  few  who  were  lucky  or  wise  enough  to  reap  the 
advantages  of  human  folly — a  world  in  Avhich  lust  and  ob- 
scenity, lying  and  ti'eachery,  oppression  and  murder,  Avore 
pleasant,  useful,  and,  when  properly  managed,  not  dangerous. 
And  as  a  sort  of  fringe  or  adormueiit  to  the  substantial  de- 
lights of  tyranny,  avarice,  and  lasciviousness,  there  was  the 
patronage  of  polite  learning  and  the  fine  arts,  so  that  flnttc:  v 
could  always  be  had  in  the  choicest  Latin  to  be  comrii.-inded 
at  that  time,  and  sublime  artists  were  at  hand  to  p;;  i.t  the 
holy  and  the  unclean  with  impartial  skill.  Tlie  Church,  it 
was  said,  had  never  been  so  disgraced  in  its  head,  had  never 
shown  so  few  sij^s  of  renovatino-  vital  belief  in  its  lower 
members ;  yet  it  was  much  more  prosperous  than  in  some 
past  days.  Tlie  heavens  were  fair  and  smiling  above ;  and 
below  there  Avere  no  signs  of  earthquake. 

Yet  at  that  time,  as  we  haA^e  seen,  there  Avas  a  man  in  Flor- 
ence who  for  two  years  and  more  had  been  preaching  that  a 
scourge  was  at  hand  ;  that  tlie  Avorld  Avas  certainly  not  framed 
for  the  lasting  convenience  of  hypocrites,  libertines,  and  op- 
pressors. From  the  midst  of  those  smiling  heaA^ens  he  had 
seen  a  sword  hanging — the  sword  of  God's  justice — Avhich 
Avas  speedily  to  descend  Avith  pui-ifying  punishment  on 
the  Church  and  the  Avorld.  In  brilliant  Ferrara,  seA'enteen 
years  before,  the  contradiction  between  men's  lives  and  their 
professed  beliefs  had  pressed  upon  him  Avith  a  force  that  had 
been  enough  to  destroy  his  appetite  for  the  Avorld,  and  at  the 
age  of  twentv-three  had  driven  him  into  the  cloister.  He  be- 
lieved  that  God  had  committed  to  the  Church  the  sacred  lamp 
of  truth  for  the  guidance  and  salvation  of  men^  and  he  saw 


,  Q1  no  M  OLA. 

lliat  the  C'liurrh,  in  its  corriiplidii,  liad  become  as  a  sepul'.-lire 
to  liitk'  thf  lainp.  As  tl»e  years  went  on  scandals  increased 
and  multiplied,  and  hypocrisy  seemed  to  have  given  place  to 
impudence.  Had  the  world  then  ceased  to  have  a  rit^hteous 
Uuler  y  Was  the  Church  linaily  forsaken  ?  No,  assuredly  : 
in  the  Sacred  Book  there  was  a  record  of  the  past  in  winch 
might  be  seen  as  in  a  glass  what  would  be  in  the  days  to 
come,  and  the  book  showed  that  wlien  the  wickedness  of  the 
chosen  peoi)le,  type  of  the  Christian  Church,  had  become  cry- 
ing, the  judgments  of  God  liad  descended  on  them.  Nay, 
reason  itself  declared  that  vengeance  was  imminent,  for  what 
else  wouKl  suffice  to  turn  men  from  their  obstinacy  in  evil? 
And  unless  the  Church  were  reclaimed,  how  could  the  prom- 
ises be  fulfilled,  that  the  heathens  should  be  converted  and 
the  whole  Avorld  become  suV»ject  to  the  one  true  law?  He 
liad  seen  his  belief  reflected  in  visions — a  mode  of  seeing 
which  had  been  frequent  with  him  from  his  youth  up. 

But  the  real  force  of  demonstration  for  Girolaino  Savona- 
rola lav  in  his  own  burning  indignation  at  the  sight  of  wrong; 
in  his  fervid  belief  in  an  Unseen  Justice  that  would  put  an  end 
to  the  wrong,  and  in  an  Unseen  Purity  to  wliich  lying  and  un- 
cleaimess  were  an  abomination.  To  his  ardent,  power-loving 
soul,  believing  in  great  ends,  and  longing  to  achieve  those  ends 
by  the  exertion  of  a  mighty  .and  generous  will,  the  faith  in 
a  supreme;  and  righteous  Iluler  became  one  with  the  faith 
in  a  speeily  divine  interposition  that  would  })unish  and  re- 
claim. 

Meanwliile,  mider  that  splendid  masquerade  of  dignities  sa- 
cred and  secular  which  seemed  to  make  the  life  of  lucky 
Churchmen  and  princely  families  so  luxurious  and  amusing, 
there  were  certain  conditions  at  work  which  slowly  tended  to 
disturb  the  general  festivity.  Ludovico  Sforza — co])ious  in 
gallantry,  splen<lid  patron  of  an  incomparable  Lionardo  da 
Vinci — holding  the  ducal  crown  of  Milan  in  his  grasp,  and 
wanting  to  put  it  on  his  own  head  rather  than  let  it  rest  on 
that  of  a  feeble  nephew  who  would  take  vi'ry  little  to  jtoison 
liim,  was  much  afraid  of  the  Spanisli-born  old  King  i^'erdinand 
and  the  C!rown  Prince  Alfonso  of  Naples,  who,  not  liking  cru- 
elty  and  treachery  which  were  useless  to  themselves,  objected 
to  the  ])oisoning  of  a  near  relative  for  the  advantage  of  a  Lom- 
bard usurper;  the  royalties  of  Najiles  again  were  afraid  of 
their  suzerain.  Pope  Alexander  IJorgia  ;  all  three  were  anxious- 
ly watching  Florence,  lest  with  its  midway  tenifoi-y  it  should 
determine  the  game  liy  underhand  backing;  and  all  four,  with 
every  small  state  in  Italy,  were  afraid  of  Venice — Venice  the 
cautious,  the  stable,  and  the  strong,  that  wanted  to  stretch  iU 


KOMOLA.  193 

arms  not  onl\^  along  both  sides  of  the  Adriatic  but  across  to 
the  ports  of  the  western  coast. 

Lorenzo  de'  Medici,  it  was  thought,  did  niucli  to  prevent 
the  fatal  outbreak  of  such  jealousies,  keeping  up  the  old  Flor- 
entine alliance  with  Naples  and  the  Pojoe,  and  yet  persuading 
Milan  that  the  alliance  was  for  the  general  advantage.  But 
young  Piero  de'  Medici's  rash  vanity  had  quickly  nullified  the 
effect  of  his  father's  wary  policy,  and  Ludovico  Sforza,  roused 
to  suspicion  of  a  league  against  him,  thought  of  a  move  which 
would  checkmate  his  adversaries  ;  he  determined  to  invite  the 
French  king  to  march  into  Italy,  and,  as  heir  of  the  house  of 
Anjou,  to  take  possession  of  Naples.  Ambassadors — "  ora- 
tors," as  they  were  called  in  those  haranguing  times — went 
and  came  ;  a  recusant  cardinal  determined  not  to  acknowledge 
a  Pope  elected  by  bribery,  and  his  own  particular  enemy,  w^ent 
and  came  also,  and  seconded  the  invitation  with  hot  rhetoric ; 
and  the  young  king  seemed  to  lend  a  willing  ear.  So  that  in 
1493  tlie  rumor  spread  and  became  louder  and  louder  that 
Charles  the  Eighth  of  France  was  about  to  cross  the  Alps  with 
a  mighly  army  ;  and  the  Italian  populations,  accustomed,  since 
Italy  had  ceased  to  be  the  heart  of  the  Roman  empire,  to  look 
for  an  arbitrator  from  afar,  began  vaguely  to  regard  his  com- 
ing as  a  means  of  aveno-ing  their  wrongs  and  redressing  their 
grievances. 

And  in  that  rumor  Savonarola  had  heard  the  assurance  that 
his  prophecy  was  being  verified.  What  was  it  that  filled  the 
ear  of  the  prophets  of  old  but  the  distant  tread  of  foreign  ar- 
mies coming  to  do  the  work  of  justice?  He  no  longer  looked 
vaguel}'  to  the  horizon  for  the  coming  storm :  he  pointed  to 
the  rising  cloud.  The  French  army  was  that  new  deluge  which 
was  to  ])urify  the  earth  from  iniquity ;  the  French  king, 
Charles  VIII.,  was  the  instrument  elected  by  God,  as  Cyrus 
had  been  of  old,  and  all  men  who  desired  good  rather  than 
evil  were  to  rejoice  in  his  coming.  F'or  the  scoui'ge  would 
fall  destructively  on  the  impenitent  alone.  Let  any  city  of 
Italy,  let  Florence  above  all — Florence  beloved  of  God,  since 
to  its  ear  the  warning  voice  had  been  specially  sent — repent 
and  turn  from  its  ways,  like  Nineveh  of  old,  and  the  storm- 
cloud  would  roll  over  it  and  leave  only  refreshing  rain-drops. 

Fra  Girolamo's  word  was  powerful ;  yet  now  that  the  new 
Cyrus  had  already  been  three  months  in  Italy,  and  was  not  far 
from  the  gates  of  Florence,  his  presence  was  expected  there 
with  mixed  feehngs,  in  which  fear  and  distrust  certainly  pre- 
dominated. At  yjresent  it  was  not  understood  that  he  had  re- 
dressed any  grievances ;  and  the  Florentines  clearly  had  noth- 
ing to  thank  him  foi-.     He  held  their  strong  frontier  fortr-ess- 


194  no:iOLA. 

cs,  wlikli  PicTo  (k-'  ]Mc<lifi  liatl  trivcn  up  to  liini  witliont  Rccur. 
iiiLT  aiiv  hoiKtrable  terms  in  retmii ;  lie  had  doin.-  iio'.lnni;  to 
qiR'U  tliu  alarming  revolt  of  l*isa,  which  had  )>»'en  ciu-ouragc^d 
by  his  j)rcsencc'  to  throw  off  the  Florentine  yoke;  and  '  "Ji'ar 
tors,"  even  with  a  prophet  at  their  head,  cf»uUl  wii;  no  'iSSur- 
anee  from  him,e.\eei>t  that  he  would  settle  every  tljiiit;  when 
be  was  once  within  the  walls  of  Florence.  Still,  tiiercwas  tho 
satisfaction  of  knowint;  that  the  exasperatii\g  P'-^ro  de'  Medi- 
ci had  been  fairly  pelted  out  for  the  ignominious  surrender  of 
the  fortresses,  anil  in  that  act  of  energy  the  spirit  of  the  Re- 
public had  recovered  some  of  its  old  iirc. 

The  i)reparations  for  the  e(piivocal  guest  were  not  entirely 
those  of  a  cilv  resi<rned  to  submission.  IJehind  the  bright 
drapery  and  banners  symbolical  of  joy  there  were  i)rei>arations 
of  another  sort  made  with  common  accord  by  government  and 
peoj)le.  Well  hidden  within  walls  there  were  hired  soldiers 
of  the  Kepublic,  hastily  called  in  from  the  surrounding  dis- 
tricts ;  there  were  old  arms  newly  furbished,  and  sharj)  tools 
and  heavy  cudgels  laid  carefully  at  hand,  to  be  snatched  up  on 
short  notice  ;  there  were  excellent  boartls  and  stakes  to  forni 
barricades  upon  occasion,  and  a  good  supj)ly  of  stones  to  make 
a  surprising  hail  from  the  upjter  windows.  Above  all,  there 
were  people  very  strongly  in  the  humor  for  lighting  any  ])er- 
sonage  who  might  be  supposed  to  liave  designs  of  hectoring 
over  them,  Imving  lately  tasted  that  new  pleasure  with  much 
relish.  This  humor  was  not  diminished  by  the  sight  of  occa- 
sional parties  of  Frenchmen,  coming  beforehand  to  choose  their 
quarters,  with  a  liawk,  perhaps,  on  their  left  wrist,  and,  meta- 
phorically speaking,  a  piece  of  chalk  in  their  right  hand  to 
mark  Italian  doors  withal;  especially  as  credible  historians 
imjily  that  many  sons  of  France  were  at  that  time  character- 
ized'by  sometlung  ai>i)roaching  to  a  swagger,  which  must 
have  whetted  the  Florentine  appetite  for  a  little  stone-throwing. 

And  this  was  the  temper  of  Florence  on  the  morning  of  the 
seventeenth  of  November,  1494. 


CIIAPTEU  XXII. 

THE    PRISONERS. 


Thr  sky  was  gray,  but  that  made  little  difTcrcnco  in  the 
Piazza  delDuomo,  which  was  covered  with  its  huli<lay  sky  of 
blue  drapery,  and  its  constellations  of  yellow  lilies  and  coats 
of  arms.  'Hie  sheaves  of  banners  were  unfurled  at  the  angles 
of  the  Bai)tistery,  but  there  was  no  carpet  yet  on  the  steps  of 


EOMOLA.  195 

tlie  Duomo,  for  the  mavblo  Avas  being  trodtlcn  by  numerous 
feet  that  were  not  at  all  exceptional.  It  was  the  hour  of  the 
Advent  sermons,  and  the  very  same  reasons  which  had  flushed 
the  streets  witli  holiday  color  were  reasons  why  the  preach- 
ing in  the  Duomo  could  least  of  all  be  dispensed  with. 

But  not  all  the  feet  in  the  Piazza  were  hastening  towards 
the  steps.  People  of  high  and  low  degree  were  moving  to 
and  fro  with  the  brisk  pace  of  men  Avho  had  errands  before 
them  ;  groups  of  talkers  were  thickly  scattered,  some  willing 
to  be  late  for  the  sermon,  others  content  not  to  hear  it  at  all. 

The  expression  on  the  faces  of  these  apparent  loungers  was 
not  that  of  men  who  are  enjoying  the  pleasant  laziness  of  an 
opening  holiday.  Some  were  in  close  and  eager  discussion  ; 
others  were  listening  with  keen  interest  to  a  single  spokesman, 
and  yet  from  time  to  time  turned  round  with  a  scanning  glance 
at  any  new  passser-by.  At  the  corner,  looking  towards  the 
Via  de'  Cerretani — just  where  the  artificial  rainbow  light  of 
the  Piazza  ceased,  and  the  gray  raorning  fell  on  the  sombre 
stone  houses — there  was  a  remarkable  chister  of  the  working 
people,  most  of  them  bearing  on  their  dress  or  persons  the 
signs  of  their  daily  labor,  and  almost  all  of  them  carrying 
some  weapon,  or  some  tool  which  might  serve  as  a  weapon 
upon  occasion.  Standing  in  the  gray  light  of  the  street,  with 
bare  brawny  arms  and  soiled  garments,  they  made  all  the 
more  striking  the  transition  from  the  brightness  of  the  Piazza. 
They  were  listening  to  the  thin  notary,  Ser  Cioni,  who  had 
just  paused  on  his  way  to  the  Duomo.  His  biting  words 
could  get  only  a  contemptuous  reception  two  years  and  a  half 
before  in  the  Mercata,  but  now  he  spoke  with  the  more  com- 
placent humor  of  a  man  whose  party  is  uppermost,  and  who 
is  conscious  of  some  influence  with  the  people. 

"  Xever  talk  to  me,"  he  was  saying,  in  his  incisive  voice, 
"  never  talk  to  me  of  blood-thirsty  Swiss  or  fierce  French  in- 
fantry :  they  might  as  well  be  in  the  narrow  passes  of  the 
mountains  as  in  our  streets ;  and  peasants  have  destroyed  the 
finest  armies  of  our  condottieri  in  time  past,  when  they  had 
once  got  them  between  steep  precipices.  I  tell  you,  P^loreu- 
tines  need  be  afraid  of  no  army  in  their  own  streets." 

"  That's  true,  Ser  Cioni,"  said  a  man  whose  arms  and  handa 
were  discolored  by  crimson  dye,  which  looked  like  blood-stains, 
and  who  had  a  smaU  hatchet  stuck  in  his  belt ;  "  and  those 
French  cavaliers,  who  came  in  squaring  themselves  in  their 
smart  doublets  the  otiier  day,  saw  a  sample  of  the  dinner  we 
could  serve  up  for  them.  I  was  carrvinu;  tnv  cloth  in  Ocrnis- 
santi,  when  I  saw  my  fine  Jlesseri  going  by,  looking  round  as 
if  they  thought  the  houses  of  the  Vespucci  and  the  Agli  a 


190  ROM  OLA. 

poor  |iic'k  of  lodLciiiiijjs  for  tliein,  and  oyitiGf  lis  Florentines,  liko 
top-knot k'll  cocks  a.s  llicy  arc,  as  if  they  pitied  us  because  we 
didn't  know  l»ow  to  strut.  '  Yes,  my  tine  6V////,'  says  1,' stick 
out  your  stoniaclis,  I've  got  a  meat-uxe  in  my  belt  tliat  will  go 
inside  you  all  the  easier;'  wlien  ])resently  the  old  cow  loweil,* 
and  1  knew  something  had  ha[»[»ened — no  matter  ^\  hat.  So  1 
tlirew  my  cloth  in  at  the  first  door- way,  and  took  fiold  of  my 
meat-axe  and  ran  after  my  fine  cavaliers  towards  the  Vigna 
Nuova.  And, '  Wliat  is  it,  (iuccio  ?'  said  I,  when  he  came  up 
with  me.  'I  think  it's  the  Medici  coming  back,'  said  Guccio. 
.Bemhc!  I  expected  so  !  And  up  we  reared  a  barricade,  and 
the  J-')-toiresl  looked  behind  and  saw  themselves  in  a  trap; 
and  up  comes  a  good  swarm  of  our  Cloinpi,]  and  one  of  them 
with  a  big  scythe  ho  had  in  liis  hand  mowed  off  one  of  the 
fine  cavalier's  feathers — it's  true  !  And  the  lasses  ])eppered 
a  few  stones  down  to  frighten  them.  However,  Piero  de' 
IMedici  wasn't  come  after  all ;  and  it  was  a.  i)ity,  for  we'd 
liave  left  him  neither  legs  nor  wings  to  gO  away  with  again." 

"Well  spoken,  ()d(h),"  said  a  yoimg  butcher,  with  his  knife 
at  his  belt;  '■■  and  it's  my  belief  l*iero  will  be  a  good  while  be- 
fore he  wants  to  come  back,  for  he  looked  as  frightened  as  .i 
hunted  chicken,  when  we  hustled  and  pelted  him  in  piazza. 
lie's  a  coward,  else  he  miglit  have  made  a  better  stand  when 
lie'd  got  liis  horsemen.  Hut  we'll  swallow  no  IMedici  any 
more,  whatever  else  the  French  king  wants  to  make  us  swyxl- 
low." 

"But  I  like  not  those  French  cannon  they  talk  of,"  said 
Goro,  none  the  less  fat  for  two  years'  additional  grievances. 
"  San  Giovanni  defend  us  !  If  ^lesser  Domeneddio  means  so 
Well  bv  us  as  vour  Frate  savs  he  does,  Sor  Cioni,  why  shouldn't 
he  have  sent  the  French  another  way  to  Naples?" 

^^M<t(hsi  (yc.<,  indeed),  Goro,"  said  the  dyer,  "  and  that's  a 
question  woi"th  ]>uttiiig.  Thou  art  not  such  a  pumpkin-head 
:is  r  took  thee  for.  AVhy,  they  might  have  gone  to  Naples  by 
iJoloiTiia,  eh,  Ser  Cioni?  or  if  they'd  gone  to  Arezzo — wo 
wouldn't  have  minded  their  going  to  Arezzo." 

"Fools!  It  will  be  for  the  good  and  glory  of  Florence," 
Ser  Cioni  began.  l>ul  he  was  interrupted  by  the  exclamation, 
"  Look  there  !"  wliich  burst  from  several  yoices  at  once,  while 
the  faces  were  all  turned  to  a  party  who  were  advancing  along 
the  Via  de'  Cerretani. 

"  It's  Lorenzo  Tornabuoni,  and  one  of  the  French  noblemen 

*  '■'^  Ln  vnrcn  viiif;/in  "  was  tlie  phrase  lor  tlic  sounding  of  tlio  j^-cat  bell  in 
the  tower  of  tlic  Palazzo  Veccliio. 

+  Tlie  i)oorcr  artisans  connected  with  the  wool  trade — wool-bcaters,  carders^ 
washers,  etc. 


KOMOLA.  197 

who  are  in  liis  house,"  said  Ser  Cioni,  in  some  contempt  at 
this  interruption.  "  He  pretends  to  look  well  satisfied — that 
deep  Tornabuoni — but  he's  a  Medicean  in  his  heart :  mind 
that." 

The  advancing  party  was  rather  a  brilhant  one,  for  there 
was  not  only  the  distinguished  presence  of  Lorenzo  Tornabu- 
oni, and  the  splendid  costume  of  the  Frenchman  with  his 
elaborately  displayed  Avhite  linen  and  gorgeous  embroidery; 
there  Avere  two  other  Florentines  of  high  birth  in  handsome 
dresses  donned  for  the  coming  procession,  and  on  the  left 
hand  of  the  Frenchman  was  a  figure  that  was  not  to  be  eclipsed 
by  any  amount  of  intention  or  brocade — a  figure  we  have  oft- 
en seen  before.  He  wore  nothing  but  black,  for  he  Avas  in 
mourning;  but  the  black  was  presently  to  be  covered  by  a 
red  mantle,  for  he  too  was  to  walk  in  procession  as  Latin  Sec- 
retaiy  to  the  DiecA.  Tito  Melema  had  become  conspicuously 
serviceable  in  the  intercourse  with  the  French  guests,  from 
his  familiarity  with  Southern  Italy,  and  his  readiness  in  the 
French  tongue,  which  he  had  spoken  in  his  early  youth ;  and 
he  had  paid  more  than  one  visit  to  the  French  camp  at  Signa. 
The  lustre  of  good  fortune  was  upon  him;  he  was  smiling, 
listening,  and  explaining,  with  his  usual  graceful  unpreten- 
tious ease,  and  only  a  very  keen  eye  bent  on  studying  him  could 
have  marked  a  certain  amount  of  change  in  him  wliich  Avas 
not  to  be  accounted  for  by  the  lapse  of  eighteen  months.  It 
was  that  change  Avhich  comes  from  the  final  departure  of 
moral  youthfulness — from  the  distinct  self-conscious  adoption 
of  a  part  in  life.  The  lines  of  the  face  Avere  as  soft  as  ever, 
the  eyes  as  pellucid  ;  but  something  Avas  gone — something  as 
indefinable  as  the  changes  in  the  morning  twilight. 

The  Frenchman  Avas  gathering  instructions  concerning  cer- 
emonial before  riding  back  to  Signa,  and  noAV  he  was  going  to 
have  a  final  survey  of  the  Piazza  del  Duomo,  Avhere  the  royal 
procession  Avas  to  pause  for  religious  purposes.  The  distin- 
guished party  attracted  the  notice  of  all  eyes  as  it  entered  the 
piazza,  but  the  gaze  Avas  not  entirely  cordial  and  admiring ; 
there  Avere  remarks  not  altogether  allusive  and  mysterious  to 
the  Frenchman's  hoof-shaped  shoes — delicate  flattery  of  royal 
superfluity  in  toes ;  and  tliere  Avas  no  care  that  certain  snarl- 
ings  at  "  Mediceans  "  should  be  strictly  inaudible.  But  Lo- 
renzo Tornabuoni  possessed  that  power  of  dissembling  annoy- 
ance Avhich  is  demanded  in  a  man  Avho  courts  popularity,  and 
to  Tito's  natural  disposition  to  overcome  ill-will  by  good-lui- 
mor,  there  Avas  added  the  unimpassioned  feeling  of  the  alien 
toAvards  names  and  details  that  move  the  deepest  passions  of 
the  native.      Arrived  where  they  could  .get  a  good  oblique 


108  ROMOLA, 

vii'W  of  the  Dnomo,  the  party  paused.  Tlie  festoons  and  do- 
vices  that  had  been  ])laced  over  the  central  door-way  excited 
some  demur,  and  Tornabuoni  beckoned  to  l^icro  di  Cosimo, 
who,  as  was  usu:il  with  liim  at  this  hour,  was  hiungiiiLf  in  front 
of  Nello's  sliop.  Tliere  was  soon  an  animateil  <liscussion, 
which  became  hi^dily  amusinLj  from  tlie  Frenchman's  astonish- 
ment at  I'icro's  0(hl  pungency  of  statement,  whicli  Tito  trans- 
lated hterally.  Even  snarling  on-lookers  became  curious,  and 
their  faces  began  to  wear  the  half-smiling,  half-humiliated  ex- 
pression  of  people  who  are  not  within  hearing  of  the  joke 
whicli  is  ])roducing  infectious  laughter.  It  was  a  delightful 
moment  for  Tito,  for  he  was  the  only  one  of  the  party  who 
could  have  made  sf)  amusing  an  interpreter,  and  without  any 
disposition  to  trium[thant  self-grattdation,  he  revelled  in  the 
sense  that  he  was  an  object  of  liking — lie  basked  in  approv- 
ing glances.  The  rainbow  light  fell  about  the  laughing  group, 
and  the  grave  cliurch-goers  had  all  disapi)eared  within  the 
walls.  It  seemed  as  if  the  piazza  hud  been  decorated  for  a 
real  Florentine  holiday. 

Meanwhile,  in  the  gray  light  of  the  unadorned  streets,  there 
•were  on-comers  who  made  no  show  of  linen  and  brocade,  and 
whose  humor  was  far  from  merry.  Here,  too,  the  Fiench 
dress  and  hoofed  shoes  were  conspicuous,  but  they  were  being 
pressed  upon  by  a  larger  and  larger  number  of  non-admiring 
Florentines.  In  the  van  of  the  crowd  were  three  men  in 
scanty  clothing;  each  had  his  hands  bound  together  by  a 
cord,  and  a  rope  was  fastened  round  his  neck  and  Ijody,  in 
such  a  way  that  he  who  held  the  extremity  of  the  rope  might 
easily  check  any  rel)eUious  movement  by  the  threat  of  throt- 
tling. The  men  who  held  the  ropes  were  P"'rencli  soldiers, 
and  by  broken  Italian  phrases  and  strokes  from  the  knotted 
entl  of  the  rope,  they  from  time  to  time  s-timulated  their  j)ris- 
oners  to  beg.  Two  of  them  were  obedient,  and  to  every  Flor- 
entine they  had  encountered  had  held  out  their  bound  hands, 
and  said,  in  ]>iteous  tones, 

"  For  the  love  of  (lod  and  the  Holy  IMadonna,  give  us  somo- 
thing  towards  our  ransom  !  We  are  Tuscans  :  we  were  made 
prisoners  in  Lmiigiana." 

JJut  the  third  nian  remained  obstinately  silent  under  all  the 
strokes  from  the  knotted  cord.  He  was  very  different  in  as- 
jiect  from  his  two  fellow-prisoner.s".  They  were  young  and 
iiardy,  and,  in  the  scant  clolhinix  which  the  avarice  of  their 
captors  ha<l  left  them,  looked  like  vulgar,  sturdy  nieiidicaiits. 
lint  he  had  passed  the  boundary  of  old  age,  and  could  hardly 
be  less  than  four  or  five  an<l  sixty.  His  beard,  which  had 
grown    long   in   neglect,  and   the   hair,  which   fell   thick   and 


Ro:.iOLA.  199 

ftraight  ronml  lils  baldness,  were  nearly  white.  His  thick-set 
Kgure  was  still  firm  and  upright,  though  emaciated,  and  seem- 
t'd  to  express  energy  in  sjnte  of  age — an  expression  that  was 
partly  carried  out  in  the  dark  eyes  and  strong  dark  eyebrows, 
which  had  a  strangely  isolated  intensity  of  color  in  the  midst 
of  his  yellow,  bloodless,  deep-wrinkled  face  with  its  lank  gray 
hairs.  And  yet  there  was  something  fitful  in  the  eyes  which 
contradicted  the  occasional  flash  of  energy ;  after  looking 
round  with  quick  fierceness  at  windows  and  faces  they  fell 
again  with  a  lost  and  wandering  look.  But  his  lips  were  mo- 
tionless, and  he  held  his  hands  resolutely  down.  He  would 
not  beg. 

This  sight  had  been  witnessed  by  the  Florentines  with 
growing  exasperation.  Many  standing  at  the  doors  or  pass- 
ing quietly  along  had  at  once  given  money — some  in  half  au- 
tomatic response  to  an  appeal  in  the  name  of  God,  others  in 
that  unquestioning  awe  of  the  French  soldiery  which  had  been 
created  by  the  reports  of  their  cruel  warfare,  and  on  which 
the  French  themselves  counted  as  a  guaranty  of  immunity  in 
their  acts  of  insolence.  But  as  the  grouj)  had  proceeded  far- 
ther into  the  heart  of  the  city,  that  comj)liance  had  gradually 
disappeared,  and  the  soldiers  found  themselves  escorted  by  a 
gathering  troo])  of  men  and  boys,  who  kept  up  a  choriis  of  ex- 
clamations sufticicntly  intelligible  to  foreign  ears  Avithont  any 
interpreter.  The  soldiers  themselves  had  begun  to  dislike 
their  position,  for  with  a  strong  inclination  to  use  their  weap- 
ons, they  were  checked  by  the  necessity  for  kee]nng  a  secure 
hold  on  their  prisoners,  and  they  were  now  hurrying  along  in 
the  hope  of  finding  shelter  in  a  hostelry. 

"French  dogs^!"  "Bullock-feet!"  "Snatch  their  pikes 
from  them  !"  "  Cut  the  cords  and  make  them  run  for  their 
jM-isoners.  They'll  run  as  fast  as  geese — don't  you  see  they're 
web-footed  ?"  These  were  the  cries  which  the  soldiers  vague« 
ly  understood  to  be  jeers,  and  jn-obably  threats.  But  every 
one  seemed  disposed  to  give  invitations  of  this  spirited  kind 
rather  than  to  act  upon  them. 

"Santiddio  !  here's  a  sight !"  said  the  dyer,  as  soon  as  he 
had  divined  the  meaning  of  the  advancing  tumult,  "  and  the 
fools  do  nothing  but  hoot.  Come  along !"  ke  added,  snatch- 
ing his  axe  from  his  belt,  and  running  to  join  the  crowd,  fol- 
lowed by  the  butcher  and  all  the  rest  of  liis  companions  ex- 
cept Goro,  wlio  liastily  retreated  up  a  narrow  passage. 

The  sight  of  the  dyer,  running  forward  with  blood-red 
arms  and  nxe  uplifted,  and  with  his  cluster  of  rough  compan- 
ions behind  him,  had  a  stimulating  effect  on  the  crowd.  Not 
that  he  did  any  thing  else  than  pass  beyond  the  soldiers  and 


'200  ItO.MOLA. 

thrust  liimst'lf  well  among  liis  ffllow-citizens,  flotiiishing  his 
nxc  ;  hill  he  servi'd  as  a  stirriiii;  syiiihul  of  stivet  fii^htiiiu,  liko 
lla-  waviiiirof  a  wcU-kiiowii  Lroiifaloii.  Ami  tliu  liisl  sitrn  that 
fire  was  ready  to  burst  out  was  something  as  rapid  as  a  little 
lca|iiii!j:  tongiu'  of  Haine  :  it  was  an  act  of  the  ccrretauo\s  iini»- 
i.sh  hul  Lollo,  who  was  dancing  and  jeering  in  front  of  the  in- 
geinious  boys  that  made  the  majority  of  the  crowd.  Lollo  ha;l 
no  great  compassion  for  the  prisoners,  but  being  conscious  of 
an  e.vcellent  knife  wliicli  was  his  unfailing  companion,  it  had 
■seemed  to  him  from  the  first  tliat  to  jiini]i  fin-w  ard,  cut  a  rope, 
and  leap  back  again  before  the  soldier  who  held  it  could  uso 
his  wea])OM,  would  be  an  amusing  and  dexti'roiis  bit  of  miscliief. 
And  now,  when  the  people  began  to  hoot  and  jostle  mf»re  vig- 
orously, Lollo  felt  that  his  moment  was  come — he  was  close  to 
the  eldest  ])risoner:  in  an  instant  he  had  cut  tlie  cord. 

"  liuii,  t>ld  one  !"  Ill'  piped  in  the  priso-ier's  ear,  as  soon  as 
the  cord  was  in  two;  and  himself  set  l\\v  example  of  running 
as  if  he  were  helped  along  with  wings,  like  a  scared  fowl. 

The  jtrisoner's  sensations  were  not  too  slow  for  him  to  seize 
the  opportunity:  the  idea  of  escajie  had  been  continually  pres- 
ent with  him,  and  he  had  gathered  fresh  hope  from  t!ie  temper 
of  the  crowd.  IIo  ran  at  once;  but  his  speed  would  hardly 
liave  sufficed  for  him  if  the  Florentines  had  not  instantaneous- 
ly rushed  between  him  and  his  captor.  He  ran  on  into  the 
piazza,  but  he  (piickly  heard  the  tramp  of  feet  behind  him,  for 
the  other  two  prisoners  had  been  released,  and  the  soldiers 
were  struggling  and  fighting  their  way  after  them,  in  such 
tardigrade  fashion  as  their  hoof-shaped  shoes  would  allow — im- 
peded, but  not  very  resolutely  attacked,  by  the  people.  One 
of  the  two  younger  ])risoiiers  turne(l  up  the  liorgo  di  San 
Lorenzo,  and  thus  made  a  i)artial  iliversion  of  the  hubbub; 
but  the  main  struggle  was  still  towards  the  ])iazza,  where  all 
eyes  were  turned  on  it  with  alarmed  curiosity.  The  cause 
could  not  be  ])recisely  guessed,  for  the  French  dress  was 
screened  by  the  impeding  crowd. 

"  An  escape  of  j)risoners,"  said  Lorenzo  Tornabuoni,  as  he 
and  his  party  turned  round  just  against  the  steps  of  the 
Duomo,  and  saw  a  ])risoner  rushing  by  them.  'The  people 
are  not  content  with  having  emptied  the  liargello  the  other 
day.  If  there  is  no  other  authority  in  sight  tlu-y  must  fall  on 
the  sfi/'n'i  and  socin'c  freedom  to  thieves.  Ah!  there  is  a 
French  soldier  :   that  is  more  serious." 

The  soldier  he  saw  was  struggling  along  on  the  north  side 
of  the  pia/./.a,  but  the  object  of  his  ])ursuit  had  taken  the 
other  direction.  That  ol)ject  was  the  eldest  prisoner,  who  had 
wheeled  round  the  Bai)tistery  and  was  running  towards  i.heTiu' 


ROMOLA.  201 

orao,  determined  to  take  refuge  in  that  sanctuary  rather  than 
trui>t  to  Ids  speed.  But  in  mounting  the  steps  his  foot  re- 
ceived a  shock  ;  he  Avas  precipitated  towards  tlie  group  of 
slfjnon,  whose  backs  were  turned  to  him,  and  was  only  able 
to  recover  his  balance  as  he  clutched  one  of  them  by  the  arm. 

It  was  Tito  Melema  who  felt  that  clutch.  He  turned  his 
liead,  and  saw  the  face  of  his  adopted  father,  Baldassarre  Cal' 
vo,  close  to  his  own. 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other,  silent  as  death  ;  Baldas- 
sarre, with  dark  fierceness  and  a  tightening  grip  of  the  soiled 
worn  hands  on  the  velvet-clad  arm ;  Tito,  with  cheeks  and 
lips  all  bloodless,  fascinated  by  terror.  It  seemed  a  long 
while  to  them — it  was  but  a  moment. 

The  first  sound  Tito  heard  was  the  short  laugh  of  Piero 
di  Cosimo,  who  stood  close  by  him  and  was  the  only  person 
that  could  see  his  face. 

"  Ila,  ha  !     I  know  what  a  ghost  should  be  now." 

"  This  is  another  escaped  prisoner,"  said  Lorenzo  Torna- 
buoni.     "  Who  is  he,  I  wonder  ?" 

"  Some  madman,  surely,^''  said  Tito. 

He  hardly  knew  how  the  words  had  come  to  his  lips :  there 
are  moments  when  our  passions  speak  and  decide  for  us,  and 
we  seem  to  stand  by  and  wonder.  They  carry  in  them  an  in- 
spiration of  crime,  that  in  one  instant  does  the  work  of  long 
premeditation. 

The  two.  men  had  not  taken  their  eyes  off  each  other,  and 
it  seemed  to  Tito,  when  he  had  spoken,  that  some  magical 
poison  had  darted  from  Baldassarre's  eyes,  and  that  he  felt  it 
rushing  through  his  veins.  But  the  next  instant  the  grasp  on 
his  arm  had  relaxed  and  Baldassarre  had  disappeared  within 
the  Church. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

AFTER-THOUGHTS. 

"  You  are  easily  frightened,  though,"  said  Piero,  with 
another  scornful  laugh.  "  My  portrait  is  not  as  good  as  the 
oriajinah  But  the  old  fellow  had  a  ticrer  look :  I  must  co 
into  the  Duomo  and  see  him  again." 

"  It  is  not  pleasant  to  be  laid  hold  of  by  a  madman,  if  mad- 
man he  be,"  said  Lorenzo  Tornabuoni,  in  polite  excuse  of 
Tito  ;  "but  perhaps  he  is  only  a  ruffian.  We  shall  hear.  I 
think  we  must  see  if  we  have  authority  enough  to  stop  this 
disturbance  between  our  people  and  your  countrymen,"  he 
added,  addressing  the  Frenchman. 


n4: 


202  ROMOLA. 

Tlicy  advancotl  towards  tlic  crowd  with  tlicir  swords 
drawn,  all  the  <iiuot  spectators  iiiakiiiir  an  escort  for  tlu-rn. 
Tito  went  too  :  it  was  necessary  that  he  should  know  what 
others  knew  about  IJaldassarre,  and  the  first  palsy  ot"  terror 
was  being  succeeded  by  the  rapid  devices  to  which  mortal 
dant^cr  will  stimulate  the  timid. 

'Vhv  i-abble  of  men  and  boys,  more  inclined  to  lioot  at  the 
soldier  and  torment  him  than  to  receive  or  inflict  any  serious 
wounds,  gave  way  at  the  approach  of  signori  with  drawn 
swords,  and  the  French  soldier  was  interrogated.  He  and 
his  com])anions  liad  simply  brought  their  ])risoners  into  the 
city  that  they  might  beg  mont'y  for  their  ransom  :  two  of 
the  prisoners  were  Tuscan  soldiers  taken  in  Lunigiana  ;  tlie 
other,  an  ehh'rly  man,  was  with  a  ])arty  of  Genoese,  with 
wiiom  the  French  I'oragers  had  come  to  blows  near  Fivizzano. 
He  might  be  mad,  but  he  was  harmless.  The  soldier  knew 
no  more,  being  unable  to  understand  a  word  the  old  man  said. 
Tito  heard  so  far,  but  he  was  deaf  to  every  thing  else  till  ho 
was  specially  addressed.     It  was  Tornabuoni  who  spoke. 

"  Will  you  go  back  witli  us,  Melema?  Or,  since  Messcre  is 
£roin<''  off  to  Siiina  now,  will  vou  wiselv  follow  the  fashion  of 
the  times  and  go  to  hear  the  Frate,  who  will  be  like  the  tor- 
rent at  its  lieiglit  this  morning  ?  It's  Avhat  we  must  all  do, 
you  know,  if  we  are  to  save  our  Medicean  skins.  /  should 
go  if  I  had  the  leisure." 

Tito's  face  had  recovered  its  color  now,  and  he  could  make 
an  effort  to  speak  with  gaycty. 

"Of course  I  am  among  the  admirers  of  the  ins])ired  ora- 
tor," he  said,  smilingly  ;  ''  but,  unfortunately,  I  shall  be  occu- 
pied with  the  Segretario  till  the  time  of  the  procession." 

"/am  troinu  into  the  Duomo  to  look  at  that  savage  old 
man  again,"  said  Piero. 

"Tlieii  have  the  charity  to  show  him  to  one  of  ihe  hospi- 
tals for  travellers,  Piero  uno,''''  said  Tornabuoni.  "  Tlie  monks 
mav  hnd  out  whether  he  wants  ]tutting  into  a  cage." 

The  party  separated,  and  Tito  took  his  way  to  the  Palazzo 
Veceliio,  where  he  was  to  find  Bartolommco  Scala.  It  was 
not  a  long  walk,  but  for  Tito  it  was  stretched  out  like  the 
minutes  of  our  morning  dreams:  the  short  spaces  of  street 
and  j>ia/,za  held  memories,  and  ])revisions,  and  torturing  fears, 
tliat  might  have  made  the  history  of  months.  He  felt  as  if  a 
Rerpent  had  begun  to  coil  i-ound  his  limbs.  r>aldass:uTe  living, 
and  in  Florence,  was  ;i  li\  ing  revenge,  which  would  no  more 
rest  than  a  winding  serpent  would  rest  until  it  liad  crushed 
its  ])rey.  It  was  not  in  the  nature  of  that  man  to  let  an  in- 
jury pass  unavenged:   his  love  and  his  hatn-d  were  of  that 


ROilOLA.  203 

passionate  fervov  which  suhjiigatos  all  the  rest  of  the  being, 
and  makes  a  man  sacrifice  himself  to  his  passion  as  if  it  Avere 
a  deity  to  be  worshipped  with  self-destruction.  Baldassarre 
liad  relaxed  his  hold  and  had  disappeared.  Tito  knew  well 
how  to  interpret  that :  it  meant  that  the  vengeance  was  to  be 
studied  that  it  might  be  sure.  If  he  had  not  nttcred  those 
decisive  words — "He  is  a  madman" — if  he  could  have  sum- 
moned np  the  state  of  mind,  the  courage  necessary  for  avow- 
ing his  recognition  of  Baldassarre,  would  not  the  risk  have 
been  less  ?  He  might  have  declared  himself  to  have  had 
what  he  believed  to  be  positive  evidence  of  Baldassarre's 
death  ;  and  tlie  only  persons  Avho  could  ever  liave  had  positive 
knowledge  to  contradict  him  were  Fra  Lnca,  who  was  dead, 
and  the  crew  of  the  companion  galley,  who  liad  brought  him 
the  news  of  the  encounter  witli  the  pirates.  The  chances 
were  infinite  against  Baldassarre's  having  met  again  Avith  any 
one  of  the  crew,  and  Tito  thought  with  bitterness  that  a 
timely,  well-devised  falsehood  might  have  saved  him  from  any 
fatal  consequences.  But  to  have  told  that  falsehood  Avould 
have  required  perfect  self-command  in  the  moment  of  a  con- 
vulsive shock  :  he  seemed  to  have  spoken  without  any  precon- 
ception— the  words  had  leaped  forth  like  a  sudden  birth 
that  has  been  begotten  and  nourislied  in  the  darkness. 

Tito  Avas  experiencing  that  inexorable  laAv  of  human  souls, 
that  Ave  prepare  ourselves  for  sudden  deeds  by  the  reiterated 
clioice  of  good  or  evil  that  gradually  determines  character. 

There  Avas  but  one  chance  for  him  noAV — tlie  chance  of 
Baldassarre's  failure  in  finding  his  revenge.  And — Tito  grasp- 
ed at  a  thouglit  more  actively  cruel  than  any  he  had  ever 
encouraged  before — might  not  his  OAvn  unpremeditated  Avords 
have  some  truth  in  them  '?  enough  truth,  at  least,  to  bear  him 
out  in  his  denial  of  any  declaration  Baldassarre  might  make 
about  hini '?  The  old  man  looked  strange  and  wild :  with  his 
eager  heart  and  brain,  sutfering  was  likely  enough  to  have  pro- 
duced madness.  If  it  Avere  so,  the  veng-eance  that  strove  to 
inflict  discjrace  raio-ht  be  baflied. 

CD  CD 

But  there  was  another  form  of  vengeance  not  to  be  baflied 
by  ingenious  lying.  Baldassarre  belonged  to  a  race  to  Avhom 
the  thrust  of  the  dagger  seems  almost  as  natural  an  impulse 
as  the  outleap  of  the  tiger's  talons.  Tito  shrank  Avith  shud- 
dering dread  from  disgrace;  but  he  had  also  that  physical 
dread  Avhich  is  inseparable  from  a  soft,  pleasure-loving  nature, 
a  id  Avhich  prcA'ents  a  man  from  ineeting  Avounds  and  death 
a=5  n  Avelcome  relief  from  disgrace.  His  thoughts  flcAv  at  once 
ta  some  hidden  defensive  armor  that  might  save  him  from  a 
vengeance  which  no  subtlety  could  pany. 


204  KOMOLA. 

lie  wondered  at  the  power  of  t'ne  passionate  fear  tliat  pos- 
sessed liiiii.  It  was  as  if  lie  liad  l)i'eii  smitten  with  a  bli<j;ht- 
iiiLl  disi-ase  liiat  liad  suddenly  turned  the  joyous  senst-  ut'youiiLr 
life  nito  pain. 

There  was  still  one  resource  open  to  Tito.  He  miij^ht  have 
turned  back,  sout^ht  l>aldassarre  ai^ain,  eonfi'ssed  every  tiling 
to  hiiu — to  Koniola — to  all  tlu-  wctrld.  Hut  he  never  thought 
of  that.  'Hie  repentance  which  cuts  off  all  moorings  to  evil 
demands  something  more  tlian  selfish  fear.  lie  had  no  sense 
tlut  there  was  strength  and  safety  in  truth,  the  only  strength 
he  trusted  to  lay  in  his  ingenuity  and  his  dissimulation.  Now 
the  first  shock,  which  had  called  up  the  traitorous  signs  of 
fear,  was  well  past,  he  hoped  to  be  jirepared  for  all  emergeu- 
cies  by  cool  deceit — and  defensive  armor. 

It  was  a  characteristic  fact  in  Tito's  e.vperience  at  this  cri- 
sis tliat  no  direct  measures  for  ridding  himself  of  IJaldassarro 
over  occuri'ed  to  him.  All  other  possibilities  ))asse<l  through 
his  mind,  even  to  his  own  llight  from  Florence,  but  he  never 
thought  of  any  sclicme  for  removing  his  enemy.  His  dread 
generated  no  active  malignity,  and  he  would  still  have  beeii 
glad  not  to  give  j)ain  to  any  mortal.  He  had  simply  choseu 
to  make  life  easy  to  himself — to  carry  Jiis  luiman  lot,  if  possi- 
ble, in  such  a  way  that  it  shouhl  ))inch  him  nowhere;  and  tho 
choice  liad,  at  various  tin»es,  landed  him  in  unexi)ected  posi- 
tions. The  (piestion  now  was,  not  whether  lie  should  divide 
the  common  pressure  of  destiny  with  his  suffering  fellow-men; 
it  was  whether  all  the  resources  of  lying  would  save  him  from 
being  crushed  by  the  consequences  of  that  habitual  choice. 


CHAITEII  XXIV. 

INSIDE    THE     n  U  o  >r  ( > , 


WiiE.v  Baldassarre,  with  his  hands  bound  together,  and 
the  rope  round  his  neck  and  body,  pushed  his  way  behind  tho 
curtain,  and  saw  the  interior  of  the  Diiomo  before  him,  he  gavo 
a  start  of  astonishment,  and  stood  still  against  the  door-way. 
He  had  expected  to  see  a  vast  nave  em|)ty  of  every  thing  but 
lifeless  eml)lems — side  altars  with  candles  unlit,  dim  pictures, 
)«ale  and  i-igid  statues,  with  jierhaps  a  few  M'orshipj)ers  in  the 
distant  choir  following  a  monotonous  chant.  That  was  the 
ordinary  aspect  of  churches  to  a  man  who  never  went  into 
them  with  anv  religious  ]»urpose. 

^Vnil  he  saw,  instead,  a  vast  multitude  of  warm,  living  faces, 
upturned  in  breathless  silence  towards  the  pulpit,  at  the  angle 


Ror.roLA.  205 

between  the  nave  and  the  choir.  The  multitude  was  of  all 
ranks,  from  magistrates  and  dames  of  gentle  nurture  to  coarse- 
ly-chid  artisans  and  country  people.  In  the  pulpit  was  a  Do- 
laiiiican  monk,  with  strong  features  and  dark  hair,  preaching 
with  the  cruciiix  in  his  hand.  For  the  first  few  minutes  Bal- 
dassarre  noted  nothing  of  his  preaching.  Sdent  as  his  en- 
trance had  been,  some  eyes  near  the  door-way  had  been  turn- 
ed on  him  with  surprise  and  suspicion.  The  rope  indicated 
plainly  enough  that  he  was  an  escaped  prisoner,  but  in  that 
case  the  church  was  a  sanctuary  which  he  had  a  right  to  claim ; 
his  advanced  yeai"s  and  look  of  wild  misery  were  fitted  to  ex- 
cite pity  rather  than  alarm  ;  and  as  he  stood  motionless,  with 
eyes  that  soon  wandered  absently  from  the  wide  scene  before 
him  to  the  pavement  at  his^  feet,  those  who  had  observed  his 
entrance  presently  ceased  to  regard  him,  and  became  absorbed 
again  in  the  stronger  interest  of  listening  to  the  sermon. 
Among  the  eyes  that  had  been  turned  towards  him  were  Kom- 
ola's  ;  she  had  entered  late  through  one  of  the  side  doors,  and 
was  so  placed  that  she  had  a  full  view  of  the  main  entrance. 
She  had  looked  long  and  attentively  at  Baldassarre,  for  gray 
hairs  made  a  peculiar  appeal  to  her,  and  the  stamp  of  some  un- 
wonted suffering  in  the  face,  confirmed  by  the  cord  round  the 
neck,  stirred  in  her  those  sensibilities  towards  the  sorrows  of 
age,  which  her  whole  life  had  tended  to  develop.  She  fiincied 
that  his  eyes  had  met  hers  in  their  first  wandering  gaze,  but 
Baldassarre  had  not,  in  reality,  noted  her;  he  had  only  had  a 
startled  consciousness  of  the  general  scene,  and  the  conscious- 
ness was  a  mere  flash  that  made  no  perceptible  break  in  the 
fierce  tumult  of  emotion  which  the  encounter  with  Tito  had 
created.  Images  from  the  past  kept  urging  themselves  upon 
him  like  delirious  visions  strangely  blended  with  thirst  and 
anguish.  No  distinct  thought  for  the  future  could  shape  it- 
self in  the  midst  of  that  fiery  passion  ;  the  nearest  approach 
to  such  thought  Avas  the  bitter  sense  of  enfeebled  powers,  and 
a  vague  determination  to  universal  distrust  and  suspicion. 
Suddenly  he  felt  himself  vibrating  to  loud  tones,  Avhich  seem- 
ed like  the  thundering  echo  of  his  own  passion.  A  voice  that 
penetrated  his  very  marrow  Avith  its  accent  of  triumphant 
certitude  Avas  saying,  "The  day  of  vengeance  is  at  hand!" 

Baldassarre  quivered  and  looked  uj).  He  Avas  too  distant 
to  see  more  than  the  general  aspect  of  the  preacher  standing 
with  his  right  arm  out-stretched,  lifting  up  the  crucifix  ;  but 
he  panted  for  the  threatening  voice  again  as  if  it  had  been  a 
promise  of  bliss.  There  Avas  a  pause  before  the  preacher 
spoke  again.  He  gradually  loAvered  his  arm.  He  deposited 
the  crucifix  on  the  edge  of  the  pulpit,  and  crossed  his  arras 


200  noMOLA. 

over  his  ])roast,  lonkiiijx  round  at  the  iiuiltitudo  as  if  lie  wouhl 
meet  tlie  i^laiu-r  of  every  iiidivitlual  laee. 

"Ail  ve  ill  Florciici'  are  my  wit  iiesses,  for  I  spoke  not  in  a 
corner.  ^'(' ari' iiiv  wit nesses,  that  four  yi-ars  ai^o,  when  there 
were  vet  no  siijns  of  war  and  tril)iilation,  1  preaehed  the 
coining  of  the  seonrge.  I  lith-d  up  my  voiee  as  a  tiuinpet 
to  the  prelates  and  jtrinces  and  people  of  Italy, and  said,  the 
cup  of  your  ini(|uity  is  fiiU.  I>fli<>l(l,  the  thunder  olthe  Lord 
is  gathering  and  it  shall  fall  and  Incak  the  cuj),  and  your 
iiTupiitv,  which  seems  to  you  as  ])U'asant  wine,  shall  hi'  poiir- 
eil  out  upon  you,  and  shall  be  as  molten  lead.  ^Vnd  you,  ( > 
j)riests,  who  say,  Ila,  ha  !  there  is  no  Presence  in  the  sanctua- 
ry— the  Shechina  is  natight — the  i\Ierey-seat  is  bare;  wo 
may  sin  l)ehind  the  veil,  and  who  shall  punish  us?  To  you  I 
said  the  ])resenee  of  (iod  shall  he  revealed  in  his  temple  as  a 
consuming  tire,  and  your  sacred  garments  shall  hecorne  a 
winding-sheet  of  flame,  and  lor  sweet  music  there  shall  he 
shrieks  and  hissing,  and  for  soft  couches  there  shall  he  thorns, 
and  for  the  breath  of  wantons  shall  come  the  pestilence. 
Trust  not  in  your  gold  and  silver,  trust  not  in  your  high  for- 
tresses;  for  though  the  walls  were  of  iron,  and  the  for- 
tresses of  adamant,  the  Most  High  shall  put  terror  into  your 
hearts  and  weakness  into  your  councils,  so  that  you  sliall  be 
confounded  and  ilee  like  women.  lie  shall  break  in  ]>ieces 
mighty  men  without  number,  and  j»ut  others  in  their  stead. 
For  God  will  no  longer  endure  the  pollution  of  his  sanctua- 
ry ;  he  will  thoroughly  j)urge  his  Church. 

"And  forasmucii  as  it  is  written  that  (iod  will  do  Jiothing 
but  lie  revealcth  it  to  his  servants  the  ]>ro|)liets,  he  has  chosen 
me  his  unworthy  servant,  and  made  llis  purpose  jiresent  to^ 
my  soul  in  the  living  word  of  the  Scrijitures  ;  and  in  the  deeds 
of  His  Providence;  and  by  the  ministry  of  angels  he  has  re- 
vealed it  to  me  in  visions.  And  His  word  possesses  me  so 
that  I  am  but  as  the  branch  <>f  the  forest  when  the  wind  of 
lieaven  peiu^trates  it,  and  it  is  not  in  me  to  keep  silence, 
even  though  I  may  l)e  a  derision  to  the  scorner.  And  for 
four  years  I  liave  preached  in  obedience  to  the  Divine  will  : 
in  the  face  of  scolling  I  have  ])reached  three  things  which 
the  Lonl  has  delivered  to  me:  that  in  these  times  (iod  will 
regenerate  His  Church,  and  that  before  the  regeneration  must 
come  the  scourge  over  all  Italy,  and  that  these  things  will 
come  (prn-kly.  IJut  hypocrites  who  cloak  their  hatred  of  the 
truth  with  a  show  of  lo've  liave  said  to  me,  '  Come  now,  Frate, 
leave  your  prophesyings:  it  is  enough  to  teach  virtue.'  To 
these  I  answer:  '  "^  es,  you  say  in  your  hearts,  (iod  lives  afar 
off,  and  His  word  is  as  a  parchment  written  by  dead  men,  and 


ROMOLA,  207 

lie  deals  not  as  in  the  days  of  old,  rebuking  tlie  nations,  and 
punishing  tlie  oppressors,  and  smiting  tlie  unholy  priests  as 
he  smote  the  sons  of  Eli.'  But  I  cry  again  in  your  ears  . 
God  is  near  and  not  afar  otf;  His  judgments  change  not.  He 
is  the  God  of  armies  ;  the  strong  men  who  go  up  to  battle  are 
his  ministers,  even  as  the  storm,  and  fire,  and  pestilence.  He 
drives  them  by  the  breath  of  His  angels,  and  they  come  upon 
the  chosen  land  which  has  forsaken  the  covenant.  And  thou, 
O  Italy,  art  the  chosen  land  :  has  not  God  placed  his  sanctua- 
ry Avithin  thee,  and  thou  hast  polluted  it  ?  Behold  !  the  min- 
isters of  liis  wrath  are  upon  thee — they  are  at  thy  very  door." 

Savonarola's  voice  had  been  rising  in  impassioned  force  up 
to  this  point,  when  he  became  suddenly  silent,  let  his  hands 
fall,  and  clasped  them  quietly  before  him.  His  silence,  in- 
stead of  beins:  the  sisjjnal  for  small  movements  among  his  au- 
dience,  seemed  to  be  as  strong  a  spell  to  them  as  his  voice. 
Through  the  vast  area  of  the  cathedral  men  and  women  sat 
with  faces  upturned,  like  breathing  statues,  till  the  voice  was 
heard  again  in  clear  low  tones. 

"  Yet  there  is  a  pause — even  as  in  the  days  Avhen  Jerusa- 
lem was  destroyed  tliere  was  a  pause,  that  the  children  of 
God  might  flee  from  it.  There  is  a  stillness  before  the  storm  : 
lo  !  there  is  blackness  above,  but  not  a  leaf  quakes  :  the  winds 
are  stayed,  that  the  voice  of  God's  warning  may  be  lieard. 
Hear  it  now,  O  Florence,  chosen  city  in  the  chosen  land! 
Repent  and  forsake  evil:  do  justice  :  love  mercy  :  put  away 
all  uncleanness  from  among  you,  that  the  spirit  of  truth  and 
holiness  may  fill  your  souls  and  breathe  through  all  your 
streets  and  habitations,  and  then  the  pestilence  shall  not  en- 
ter, and  the  sword  shall  pass  over  you  and  leave  you  unhurt, 

"  For  the  sword  is  hanging  from  the  sky  ;  it  is  quivering  ; 
it  is  about  to  fall !  The  sword  of  God  upon  the  earth,  swift  and 
sudden  !  Did  I  not  tell  you,  years  ago,  that  I  had  beheld  the 
vision  and  heard  the  voice  ?  And  beliold,  it  is  fulfilled  ?  Is 
there  not  a  king  with  his  army  at  your  gates?  Does  not  the 
earth  shake  with  the  tread  of  horses  and  the  wheels  of  swift 
cannon  ?  Is  there  not  a  fierce  multitude  that  can  lay  bare 
the  land  as  with  a  sharp  razor?  I  tell  you  the  French  king 
with  his  army  is  the  minister  of  God  :  God  shall  guide  him 
as  the  hand  guides  a  sharp  sickle,  and  the  joints  of  the  wick- 
ed shall  melt  before  him,  and  they  shall  be  mown  down  as 
Btubble:  he  that  fleeth  of  them  shall  not  flee  away,  and  he 
that  escapeth  of  them  shall  not  be  delivered.  And  the  ty- 
rants who  make  to  themselves  a  throne  out  of  the  vices  of 
the  multitude,  and  the  unbelieving  priests  who  trafiic  in  the 
souls  of  men  and  fill  the  very  sanctuary  with  fornication. 


208  KOMOLA. 

sliall  be  luirlt'd  from  their  soft  couches  into  burnini;  hell:  ;in(1 
the  ])agrins  and  they  -who  sinned  under  the  old  covenant  shall 
stantl  aloof  and  nay:  '  Lo !  these  men  have  brouijht  the 
stench  of  a  new  wickedness  into  the  everlastiuLj  tire.' 

"  But  thou,  O  Florence,  take  the  offered  mercy.  See  !  the 
Cross  is  held  out  to  you  :  come  and  be  healed.  Which 
among  the  nations  of  Italy  has  had  a  token  like  unto  voursf 
The  tyrant  is  driven  out  from  among  you:  the  men  who 
Iield  a  bribe  in  their  left  hand  and  a  rod  in  tlieir  right  are 
gone  forth,  and  no  blood  has  been  sj)illed.  And  now  put 
away  every  other  abomination  from  among  you,  and  you 
shall  be  strong  in  the  strength  of  the  living  God.  Wash 
yourself  from  the  black  piteh  of  your  vices,  Aviiich  have  made 
you  even  as  the  heathens:  j)ut  away  the  envy  and  hatred 
that  liave  made  your  city  as  a  nest  of  wolves.  And  there 
shall  no  harm  happen  to  you:  and  the  ])assage  of  armies 
shall  be  to  you  as  the  tlight  of  birds,  and  rebellious  Pisa 
shall  be  given  to  you  again,  and  famine  and  ]»estilence  shall 
be  far  from  your  gates,  and  you  shall  be  as  a  beacon  among 
the  nations.  15ut,  mark  !  while  you  suffer  the  accursed  thing 
to  lie  in  the  cami)  vou  shall  be  afflicted  and  tormented,  even 
though  a  remnant  among  you  may  be  saved." 

These  admonitions  and  promises  had  been  spoken  in  an 
incisive  tone  of  authority;  but  in  the  next  sentence  the 
preacher's  voice  melted  into  a  strain  of  entreaty: 

"  Listen,  O  people,  over  whom  my  heart  yearns,  as  the 
heart  of  a  mother  over  the  children  she  has  travailed  for! 
(iod  is  my  witness  that  but  for  your  sakes  I  Avould  willingly 
live  as  a  turtle  in  the  de])ths  of  the  forest^^inging  low  to 
my  Beloved,  who  is  mine  and  I  am  His.  For  you  I  toil,  for 
you  I  languish,  for  you  my  nights  are  spent  in  watching,  and 
my  soul  melteth  away  for  very  heaviness.  C)  Lord,  thou 
knowest  I  am  willing — I  am  rea<ly.  Take  me,  stretch  me  on 
tliy  cross:  let  the  wicked  who  deli,dit  in  blood,  and  rob  the 
poor,  and  deiile  the  temple  ol"  their  bodies,  and  harden  them- 
selves against  thy  mercy — let  them  wag  their  heads  and 
shoot  out  the  lij)  at  me:  let  the  thorns  press  upon  my  brow, 
and  let  my  sweat  be  anguish — T  desire  to  be  made  like  Thee 
m  thy  great  love.  But  let  me  see  of  the  fruit  of  mv  travail 
— let  this  people  be  s;i\('(l  !  l^'t  me  see  tlKiu  clothed  in 
jiurity:  let  me  luar  their  voices  rise  in  concord  as  the 
\ oices  of  the  angels  :  let  them  see  no  wisdom  but  in  Thy 
eternal  law,  no  beauty  but  in  holiness.  Then  they  sliall  lead 
the  way  before  the  nations,  and  the  ]»eople  from  the  four 
winds  shall  follow  them,  and  be  gathered  into  the  fold  of  the 
blessed.     For  it  is  thy  will.  O  (iod.  that  the  earth  shall  be 


ROMOLA.  209 

converted  unto  thy  law  :  it  is  thy  will  that  wickedness  shall 
cease  and  love  shall  reign.  Come,  O  blessed  promise  !  and 
behold,  I  am  willing — lay  me  on  the  altar :  let  my  blood 
flow  and  the  fire  consume  me  ;  but  let  my  witness  be  remem- 
bered among  men,  that  iniquity  shall  not  prosper  forever." 

During  the  last  appeal  Savonarola  had  stretched  out  his 
qrms  and  lifted  up  his  eyes  to  heaven  ;  his  strong  voice  had 
alternately  trembled  with  emotion  and  risen  again  in  renewed 
energy ;  but  the  passion  Avith  which  he  oftered  himself  as  a 
victim  became  at  last  too  strong  to  allow  of  further  speech, 
and  he  ended  in  a  sob.  Every  changing  tone,  vibrating 
through  the  audience,  shook  them  into  answering  emotion, 
lliere  were  plenty  among  them  who  had  very  moderate  faith 
in  the  Frate's  prophetic  mission,  and  who  in  their  cooler  mo- 
ments loved  him  little ;  nevertheless,  they  too  Avere  carried 
along  by  the  great  wave  of  feeling  which  gathered  its  force 
from  sympathies  that  lay  deeper  than  all  theory.  A  loud 
responding  sob  rose  at  once  from  the  wide  multitude,  Avhile 
Savonarola  had  fallen  on  his  knees  and  buried  his  face  in  his 
mantle.  He  felt  in  that  moment  the  rapture  and  glory  of 
martyrdom  without  its  agony. 

In  that  great  sob  of  the  multitude  Baldassarre's  had  min- 
gled. Among  all  the  human  beings  present,  there  was  per- 
haps not  one  whose  frame  vibrated  more  strongly  than  his 
to  the  tones  and  words  of  the  preacher ;  but  it  had  vibrated 
like  a  harp  of  which  all  the  strings  had  been  wrenched  a^vay 
except  one.  That  threat  of  a  fiery  inexorable  vengeance — 
of  a  future  into  Avhich  the  hated  sinner  might  be  pursued 
and  held  by  the  avenger  in  an  eternal  grapj)le,  had  come  to 
him  like  the  promise  of  an  unquenchable  fountain  to  un- 
quenchable thirst.  The  doctrines  of  the  sages,  the  old  con- 
tempt for  priestly  superstitions,  had  fallen  away  from  his 
soul  like  a  forgotten  lansfuage:  if  he  could  have  remem- 
bered  them,  Avhat  ansAver  could  they  have  given  to  his 
great  need  like  the  ansAver  given  by  this  voice  of  ener- 
getic conviction  ?  The  thunder  of  denunciation  fell  on  his 
passion-Avrought  nerves  Avith  all  the  force  of  self-evidence  : 
his  thought  never  AV>int  beyond  it  into  questions  —  he 
was  possessed  by  it  as  the  Avar-horse  is  possessed  by  the 
clash  of  sounds.  No  Avord  that  Avas  not  a  threat  touched 
his  consciousness ;  he  had  no  fibre  to  be  thrilled  by  it.  But 
the  fierce  exultant  delight  to  which  he  Avas  moved  by  the 
idea  of  perpetual  vengeance  found  at  once  a  climax  and  a  re- 
lieving outburst  in  the  preacher's  Avords  of  self-sacrifice.  To 
Baldassarre  those  Avords  only  brought  the  vague  triumphant 
sense  that  he  too  Avas  dcA'oting  himself — sioninir  Avith  his 


210  ROMOL.V. 

own  blood  tlio  deed  1)}'  whidi  lie  gave  himself  over  to  an  nn- 
endins;  lire,  tliat  would  seem  but  coolness  to  his  burnintr 
hatred. 

"  I  rescued  liiiu — I  cherished  him — if  I  mitxht  clutch  Ids 
heart-strings  forever!  Come,  O  blessed  promise  !  Let  my 
bh)i)d  llow;  let  tlic  tire  consiiine  me!" 

The  one  chord  vibrated  to  its  utmost.  Haldassarre  clutch- 
ed his  own  ]>alms,  driving  his  long  nails  into  them,  and  burst 
into  a  sob  with  the  rest. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

OUTSIDE     TIIK     DUOMO, 

While  Baldassarre  was  possessed  by  the  voice  of  Savo- 
narola he  had  not  noticed  that  another  Jiian  hail  entered 
tiirough  tlie  door-way  behind  liim,  and  stood  nut  l:ir  otf  ob- 
serving him.  It  was  l*iero  di  Cosimo,  who  took  no  heed  of 
the  ])reaching,  having  come  solely  to  look  at  the  escaped 
jirisoner.  Dui-ing  tlie  ])ause  in  which  the  preacher  and  ids 
audience  had  given  tlicmselves  up  to  inarticuhitc  emotion, 
the  new-comer  advanced  and  touched  Baldassarrc  on  the 
ai"m.  ITe  lookcil  round  with  the  tears  still  slowly  rolling 
down  liis  face,  V)ut  wilii  a  \  igorous  sigh,  as  if  he  had  done 
with  that  outburst.  The  painter  spoke  to  him  in  a  low 
tone  : 

"Siiall  [  cut  your  cords  for  you  ?  I  have  heard  how  you 
Avere  made  prisoner." 

lialdassarre  did  not  reply  immediately:  he  glanced  suspi- 
ciduslv  at  the  othc-ious  stranger.  At  last  he' said, "  If  you 
will."' 

"Better  come  outside,"  said  Piero. 

Pald.-kssarre  again  looked  at  him  suspiciously;  and  Piero, 
partly  guessing  his  thought,  smiled,  took  out  a  "knife,  and  cut 
the  cords.  He  began  to  think  that  tlie  idea  of  the  i)risoiuM-''8 
madness  was  not  improbable,  there  was  something  so  peculiar 
in  the  expression  of  his  face.  "Well,"  he  thought,  "  if  he 
<loes  any  mischief,  he'll  soon  get  tied  up  again.  The  poor 
devil  shall  have  a  chance,  at  least." 

You  are  afraid  of  me,"  lie  said  again,  in  an  undertone; 
yo\i  don't  want  to  tell  me  any  thing  aliout  yourself" 

IJaldassarre  was  folding  his  arms  in  enjoyment  of  that  long- 
absent  muscular  sensation.  He  answered  Piero  with  a  less 
sus|(ici(>us  look  and  a  tone  which  had  some  quiet  decision 
in  it. 


ROM  OLA.  21 1 

"  No,  I  have  nothing  to  tell." 

"  As  you  please,"  said  Piero  ;  "  but  perhaps  yon  vvant  shel- 
ter, and  may  not  know  how  hospitable  we  Florentines  are  to 
visitors  with  torn  doublets  and  empty  stomachs.  There's  a 
liospital  for  poor  travellers  outside  all  our  gates,  and,  if  you 
liked,  I  could  put  you  in  the  way  to  one.  There's  no  danger 
from  your  P^rench  soldier.     He  has  been  sent  oif." 

Baldassarre  nodded,  and  turned  in  silent  acceptance  of  the 
offer,  and  he  and  Piero  left  the  church  together. 

"You  wouldn't  like  to  sit  to  me  for  your  portrait,  should 
you  ?"  said  Piero,  as  they  w^ent  along  the  Via  dell'  Orinolo, 
on  the  way  to  tlie  gate  of  Santa  Croce.  "  I  am  a  painter  ;  I 
would  give  you  money  to  get  your  portrait." 

The  sus]iicion  returned  into  Baldassarre's  glance,  as  he 
looked  at  Piero,  and  said  decidedly,  "  No." 

"Ah!"  said  the  painter,  shortly.  "Well,  go  straight  on, 
and  you'll  find  the  Porta  Santa  Croce,  and  outside  it  there's 
a  hospital  for  travellers.  So  you'll  not  accej^t  any  service 
from  me?" 

"I  give  you  thanks  for  what  you  have  done  already.  I 
need  no  more." 

"It  is  well,"  said  Piero,  Avith  a  shrug,  and  they  turned 
away  from  each  other. 

"A  mysterious  old  tiger!"  thought  the  artist,  "well, 
worth  painting.  Ugly — Avith  deep  lines — looking  as  if  the 
plough  and  the  harrow  had  gone  over  his  heart.  A  fine  con- 
trast to  my  bland  and  smiling  Messer  Greco — my  Bacco 
trioiifante,  who  has  married  the  fair  Antigone  in  contradic- 
tion to  all  history  and  fitness.  Aha !  his  scholar's  blood 
curdled  uncomfortably  at  the  old  fellow's  clutch." 

When  Piero  re-entered  the  Piazza  del  Duomo  the  multi- 
tude who  had  been  listening  to  Fra  Girolamo  were  pouring 
out  from  all  the  doors,  and  the  haste  they  made  to  go  on 
their  several  ways  Avas  a  proof  how  important  they  held  the 
preaching  Avhich  had  detained  them  from  the  other  occupa- 
tions of  the  day.  The  artist  leaned  against  an  angle  of  the 
Baptistery  and  Avatchcd  the  departing  crowd,  delighting  in 
the  variety  of  the  garb  and  of  the  keen  characteristic  faces — 
faces  such  as  Masaccio  had  painted  more  than  fifty  years  be- 
fore :  such  as  Domenico  Ghirlandajo  had  not  yet  quite  left 
off  painting. 

This  morning  Avas  a  peculiar  occasion,  and  the  Frate's  au- 
dience, ahvays  multiflxrious,  had  represented  even  more  com- 
pletely than  usual  the  \arious  classes  and  political  parties  of 
Florence.  There  Avere  men  of  high  birth,  accustomed  to  pub- 
lic charges  at  home  and  abroad,  Avho  had  become  newly  con* 


212  ROMOLA, 

spicuous  not  only  as  enemies  of  llie  Medici  and  friends  of 
popidar  government,  but  as  thorou<;h  7>?V/r///o;i/,  espousinj^  to 
the  nttH<ist  t)ie  di.ctriiics  and  practical  teacliini;  of  the  Frate, 
and  frc(picntin;4  .San  Marco  as  tlie  seat   of  another  Samuel; 
some  of  them  men  of  authoritative  and  handsome  j)resence, 
like  Francesco  Valori,  and  perhaps  also  of  a  hot  and  arroi^ant 
temper,  very  mucli  gratified  by  an  immediate  divine  authori- 
ty for  bringing  about  frecdom'in  their  own  ^sav;  others,  like 
Soderini,  with  less  of  the  ardent  jiiagnone,  and  more  of  the 
wise  politician.     There  were  men,  also  of  familv,  like  Piero 
Capjioni— simply  brave  undoctrinal  lovers  of  a  sober  rej.ubli- 
ean  liberty,  Avho  preferred  fighting  to  arguing,  and  had  no 
particular  reasons  for  thinking  any  ideas  ialse^that  kept  out 
the  .Aledici  and  made  room  for  jiublic  spirit.     At  their  elbows 
were  doctors  of  law  whose  studies  of  Accursius  and  his  breth- 
ren had  not  so  entirely  consumed  their  ardor  as  to  prevent 
them   from    becoming    enthusiastic  jniujuonl — ^Nlesser  Luca 
Corsini  himself,  for  e.\am])le,  who  on  a  memorable  occasion 
yet  to  come  was  to  raise  liis  learned  arms  in  street  stone- 
throwing  for  the  cause  of  religion,  freedom,  and  the  Frate. 
And  among  these  dignities  who  carried  their  black  lucco  or 
furred  mantle  with  an  air  of  habitual  authority,  there  was  an 
abundant  spriidcling  of  men  with  more  contemplative  and 
sensitive  faces  ;  scholars  inheriting  such  lii^h  name  asStrozzi 
and  Acciajoli,  who  were  already  minded  to  take  the  cowl  and 
join  the  community  of  San  Marco;  artists,  wrought  to  a  new 
and  higher  ambition  by  the  teaching  of  Savonarola — like  that 
young  ))ainter  who  had  lately  surj);issed  hijuself  in  his  fresco 
of  the  Divine  child  on  the  Avail  of  the  Frate's  bare  cell — un- 
conscious yet  that  he  would  one  day  himself  wear  the  tonsure 
and  the  cowl,  and  be  called  Fra  IJartolomnuo.     There  Avas 
the  mystic  poet  Girolamo   I>enevieni  hastening,  ];erhaps,  to 
carry  tidings  of  the  beloved  Frate's  speedy  coming  to  bis 
friend  Pico  della  ]Mirandola,  Avho  Avas  never  to  see  the  liirht 
of  another  morning.     There  Avere   well-born  Avomen  attired 
Avith  such  scrupulous  plainness  that  their  nu>re  refined  grace 
Avas  the  chief  distinction  bctAveen  them  and  their  less  aristo- 
cratic sisters.     There  Avas  a  predominant    proiiortion  of  the 
Ti^wnww  popohini  or  middle  class,  l)elonging  both  to  the  Ma- 
jor and  Minor  Arts,  conscious  of  purses  threatened  by  Avar 
taxes.     And  more  striking  and  various,  ])eiha)»s,  than  all  the 
other   classes   of  the    Frate's    disciples,  there    Avas    the    long 
stream  of  poorer  tradesmen   and   artisans,  Avhose   faith   and 
hope  in  his  Divine  message  varied  from  tl:e  rude  nndiscrim- 
inating  trust  in  him  as  the  friend  of  the  poor  and  the  enemy 
of  the  luxurious  oppressive  rich,  to  tiiat  eager  tasting  of  <ilJ 


KOMOLA.  213 

tlie  subtleties  of  biblical  interpretation,  which  takes  a  pecu- 
liarly strong  hold  on  the  sedentary  artisan,  illuminating  the 
long  dim  spaces  beyond  the  board  where  he  stitches,  with  a 
pale  flame  that  seems  to  him  the  light  of  Divine  science. 

But  among  these  various  disciples  of  the  Frate  were  scat- 
tered many  who  Avere  not  in  the  least  his  disciples.  Some 
were  Mediceans  who  had  already,  from  motives  of  fear  ana 
policy,  begun  to  show  the  presiding  spirit  of  the  popular 
party  a  feigned  deference.  Others  were  sincere  advocates 
of  a  free  government,  but  regarded  Savonarola  simply  as  an 
ambitious  monk — half  sagacious,  half  fanatical — who  had 
made  himself  a  powerful  instrument  with  the  people,  and 
must  be  accepted  as  an  important  social  fact.  There  were 
even  some  of  his  bitter  enemies  :  members  of  the  old  aristo- 
cratic anti-Medicean  party — dctermmed  to  try  and  get  the 
reins  once  more  tight  in  the  hands  of  certain  chief  families ; 
or  else  licentious  young  men,  who  detested  him  as  the  kill- 
joy of  Florence.  For  the  sermons  in  the  Duomo  had  already 
become  political  incidents,  attracting  the  ears  of  curiosity  and 
malice  as  well  as  of  faith.  The  men  of  ideas,  like  young  Nic- 
coli  Macchiaveli,  went  to  observe  and  write  reports  to  friends 
away  in  country  villas  ;  the  men  of  appetites  like  Dolfo  Spini, 
bent  on  hunting  down  the  Frate  as  a  public  nuisance  who 
made  game  scai'ce,  went  to  feed  their  hatred  and  lie  in  wait 
for  grounds  of  accusation. 

Perhaps,  while  no  preacher  ever  had  a  more  massive  influ- 
ence than  Savonarola,  no  preacher  ever  had  more  heteroge- 
neous materials  to  Avork  upon.  And  one  secret  of  the  mass- 
ive influence  lay  in  the  highly  mixed  character  of  his  preach- 
ing. Baldassarre,  wrought  into  an  ecstasy  of  self-martyring  ' 
revenge,  was  only  an  extreme  case  among  the  partial  and 
narrow  sympathies  of  that  audience.  In  Savonarola's  preach- 
ing there  were  strains  that  appealed  to  the  very  finest  sus- 
ceptibilities of  men's  natures,  and  there  were  elements  that 
gratified  low  egoism,  tickled  gossii:)ing  curiosity,  and  fasci- 
nated timorous  superstition.  His  need  of  personal  predomi- 
nance, his  labyrinthine  allegorical  interpretations  of  the  Scrip' 
tures,  his  enigmatic  visions,  and  his  false  certitude  about  the 
Divine  intentions,  never  ceased,  in  his  own  large  soul,  to  be 
ennobled  by  that  fervid  piety,  that  passionate  sense  of  the  in- 
finite, that  active  sympathy,  that  clear-sighted  demand  for 
the  subjection  of  selfish  interests  to  the  general  good,  which 
he  had  in  common  with  the  greatest  of  mankind.  But  for 
the  mass  of  his  audience  all  the  pregnancy  of  his  preaching 
lay  in  his  strong  assertion  of  supernatural  claims,  in  the  de- 
nunciatory visions,  in  the  false  certitude  which  gave  his  ser* 


ii  1  4  ROMOLA. 

inniis  tlio  interest  of  a  political  bulletin;  ami  ]ia\  inij  once 
lieltl  tliat  audience  in  his  niasteiy,  it  was  necessary  tu  his  na- 
ture— it  was  necessary  for  their  well'are — that  he  should  Xvry) 
the  mastery.  Tlie  etlect  was  iiu'vitahle.  No  man  ever  stnii;- 
i^led  tu  retain  ])ower  over  a  mixed  multitude  without  sutler- 
ini;  vitiation:  his  standard  must  be  their  lower  needs,  and 
not  his  own  best  insifjht. 

The  mysteries  of  human  character  liave  sehlom  been  pre- 
sented in  a  way  more  fitted  to  check  the  judgments  of  facile 
kiiowingness  tlian  in  Girolamo  Savonarola;  but  we  can  give 
him  a  reverence  that  need  shut  its  eyes  to  no  fact,  if  we  re- 
gard his  life  as  a  tlrama  in  which  there  were  great  inward 
modifications  accomj)anying  the  outward  changes.  And  up 
to  this  period,  when  his  more  direct  action  on  ])olitical  affairs 
had  only  just  begun,  it  is  ])robable  that  his  im|)erious  need 
of  ascendency  had  bunii'd  undiscernibly  in  the  strong  flame 
of  his  zeal  for  (^od  and  man. 

It  was  the  fashion  of  did,  when  an  ox  was  led  out  for  sac- 
rifice to  Juj)iter,  to  chalk  the  dark  sj)ots,  and  give  the  otter- 
ing a  false  show  of  unblemished  Avhiteness.  Let  us  fiing 
away  the  chalk,  and  boldly  say — the  victim  was  sj)otted,but 
it  was  not  therefore  in  vain  that  his  mighty  heart  was  laid 
on  the  altar  of  men's  highest  hopes. 


CIIArTEPv  XXVI. 

THE    GAKMENT    OF    FEAU. 

At  six  o'clock  that  evening  most  ]K>oi)le  in  Florence  were 
glad  the  entrance  of  the  new  Charlemagne  was  fairly  over. 
Doubtless,  when  the  roll  of  drums,  the  blast  of  trumpets,  and 
the  tramp  of  horses  along  the  Pisan  road  began  to  mingle  with 
the  pealing  of  the  excited  bells,  it  was  a  grand  moment  for 
those  who  Were  stationed  on  turreted  roofs,  and  could  see  the 
long-winding  terrible  ])om])  on  the  background  of  the  green 
hills  and  valley.  There  was  no  sunshine  to  light  up  the  splen- 
dor of  banners,  and  sjjcars,  and  jiluines,  and  silken  surcoats, 
but  there  was  no  thick  cloud  oT  tiust  to  hide  it  ;  and  as  the 
picked  troops  advanced  into  close  view  they  could  be  seen  all 
the  more  distinctly  for  the  absence  of  dancing  glitter.  Tall 
and  tough  Scotch  archers,  Swiss  halberdiers  fierce  and  ])onder- 
ous,  nimble  ( Jascons  ready  to  wheel  and  climb,  cav:dry  in  which 
each  man  looked  like  a  knight-enant  with  his  indomitable 
spear  and  charger — it  was  satisfactory  to  be  assured  that  they 
would  injure  nobody  but  the  enemies  of  God  !     With  that 


RO:»IOLA.  215 

confidence  at  heart  it  was  a  less  dubious  pleasure  to  look  at 
the  array  of  strength  and  splendor  in  nobles,  and  knights,  and 
youthful  pages  of  choice  lineage — at  the  bossed  and  jewelled 
sword-hilts,  at  the  satin  scarfs  embroidered  with  strange  sym- 
bolical devices  of  pious  or  gallant  meaning,  at  the  gold  chains 
and  jewelled  aigrettes,  at  the  gorgeous  horse-trappings  and 
brocaded  mantles,  and  at  the  transcendent  canopy  carried  by 
select  youths  above  the  head  of  the  Most  Christian  King.  To 
sura  up  with  an  old  diarist,  whose  spelling  and  diction  halted 
a  little  behind  the  wonders  of  this  royal  visit — "/"tl  gran  niag- 
nificenzar 

But  for  the  Signoria,  who  had  been  waiting  on  their  platform 
against  the  gates,  and  had  to  march  out  at  the  right  moment, 
with  their  orator  in  front  of  them,  to  meet  the  mighty  guest, 
the  grandeur  of  the  scene  had  been  somewhat  screened  by  un- 
pleasant sensations.  If  Messer  Luca  Corsini  could  have  had  a 
brief  Latin  welcome  depending  from  his  mouth  in  legible  char- 
acters, it  would  have  been  less  confusing  when  the  rain  came 
on,  and  created  an  impatience  in  men  and  horses  that  broke 
off  the  delivery  of  his  well-studied  periods,  and  reduced  the 
representatives  of  the  scholarly  city  to  offer  a  make-shift  wel- 
come in  impromptu  French.  Ikit  that  sudden  confusion  had 
created  a  great  opportunity  for  Tito.  As  one  of  the  secretaries 
he  was  among  the  officials  who  were  stationed  behind  the  Si;;- 
noria,  and  with  whom  these  highest  dignities  were  proi:iiscu- 
ously  thrown  when  pressed  upon  by  the  horses. 

"  Somebody  step  forward  and  say  a  few  words  in  French," 
said  Soderini.  But  no  one  of  high  importance  chose  to  risk  a 
second  failure.  "  You,  Francesco  Gaddi,  you  can  speak."  But 
Gaddi,  distrusting  his  own  promptness,  hung  back,  and,  push- 
ing Tito,  said,  "  You,  Melema." 

Tito  stepped  forward  in  an  instant,  and  with  the  air  of  pro- 
found  deference  that  came  as  naturally  to  him  as  walking,  said 
the  few  needful  words  in  the  name  of  the  Signoria,  then  gavo 
Avay  gracefully,  and  let  the  king  jiass  on.  His  jjresence  of  mind, 
which  had  failed  him  in  the  terrible  crisis  of  the  morning,  had 
been  a  ready  instrument  this  time.  It  was  an  excellent  livery 
servant  that  never  forsook  him  when  danger  was  not  visible. 
But  when  he  was  complimented  on  his  opportune  service,  he 
laughed  it  off  as  a  thing  of  no  moment,  and  to  those  M'ho  had 
not  witnessed  it,  let  Gaddi  have  the  credit  of  the  improvised 
welcome.  Xo  wonder  Tito  was  popular :  the  touchstone  by 
which  men  try  us  is  most  often  their  own  vanity. 

Other  things  besides  the  oratorical  welcome  had  turned  out 
rather  worse  than  had  been  expected.  If  every  thinir  had 
happened  according  to  ingenious  preconceptions,  the  Florea- 


21G  KOMOLA. 

tine  procession  of  clcrc^y  mid  laity  would  not  have  found  their 
Avaychoki'tl  up  and  been  obliged  to  iinpivnise  aeiMirse  lhrou<rh 
the  back  streets,  so  as  to  meet  the  king  at  the  Cathedral  only. 
Also,  if  the  young  monarch  under  the  canopy,  seated  on  liis 
charger  with  his  lance  upon  his  thigh,  had  lookcil  more  like  u 
Charlemagne  anil  less  like  a  hastily  modelled  grutes(pie,  tho 
imagination  of  his  admirers  would  have  been  much  assisted. 
It  mit;ht  have  been  wished  that  the  scourge  of  Italian  wicked- 
ness  and  "  Champion  of  the  honor  of  women  "  had  had  a  less 
miserable  leg,  and  only  the  normal  sum  of  toes  ;  that  his  mouth 
had  been  of  a  less  reptilian  width  of  slit,  his  nose  and  liead  of 
a  less  exorbitant  outline.  But  the  thin  leg  vested  on  cloth  of 
gold  and  jjcarls,  and  the  face  was  only  an  interruption  of  a  few 
square  inches  in  the  midst  of  black  velvet  and  gold,  and  the 
blaze  of  rubies,  and  the  brilliant  tints  of  the  embroidered  and  be- 
pcarled  canopy — "/'/>  f/rdn  tnaf/u/fircnzay 

And  the  people  had  cried  Franrki,  I'Wmciaf  with  an  en- 
thusiasm proportioned  to  the  splendor  of  the  canopy  which  they 
had  torn  to  pieces  as  their  sj)oil,  according  to  immemorial 
custom  ;  royal  lips  had  duly  kissed  the  altar.;  and  after  all 
mischances  the  royal  person  and  retinue  were  lodged  in  the 
Palace  of  the  Via  Larga,  the  vest  of  the  nobles  and  gentry 
were  dispersed  amonir  the  crreat  houses  of  Florence,  and  the 
terril)le  soldiery  were  encamped  in  the  Prato  and  other  oj-en 
quarters.     The  business  of  the  day  was  ended. 

])Ut  the  streets  still  presented  a  sur])rising  aspect,  sucli  as 
Florentines  had  not  seen  before  under  the  November  stars. 
Instead  of  a  gloom  unbroken  except  by  a  lamp  burning  feebly 
here  and  there  before  a  saintly  image  at  the  street  corners,  or 
by  a  stream  of  redder  light  from  an  open  door- way,  there  wore 
lamps  suspended  at  the  windows  oi  all  houses,  so  that  men 
could  walk  along  no  less  securely  and  commodiously  than  by 
day — "/u  f/ran  )t)'/;/niJJ<'cnza.'''' 

Along  tliose  illuminated  streets  Tito  IMelema  was  walking 
at  about  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening  on  his  way  homeward. 
Ho  had  been  exerting  himself  throughout  the  day  under  the 
jiri'ssure  of  hidden  anxieties,  and  had  at  last  made  his  escape 
inmoticed  from  the  midst  of  after-suj)per  gayety.  Once  at 
leisure  thoroughly  to  face  and  consider  his  circumstances,  he 
hoped  that  he  could  so  adjust  himself  to  tlii-m  and  to  all  ])rob- 
abilities  as  to  get  rid  of  his  childish  fear.  If  he  had  only  not 
been  wanting  in  the  presence  of  min<l  necessary  to  recognize 
IxV.dassarre  under  that  surprise  ! — it  would  have  been  happier 
for  him  on  all  acciMints  ;  for  be  still  winced  under  the  sense 
that  he  was  deliberately  inflicting  suffering  (ju  his  father:  ho 
would  very  much  have  preferred  that  Baldassarre  should  ba 


ROMOLA.  217 

prosperous  and  happy.    But  he  had  left  himself  no  second  path 
now  :  there  could  be  no  coniiict  any  longer :  the  only  thing  he  • 
had  to  do  was  to  take  care  ot  himself. 

While  these  thoughts  were  in  his  mind  he  was  advancing 
from  the  Piazza  di  Santa  Croce  along  the  Via  dei  Benci,  and 
as  he  nearedthe  an2;le  turning^  into  the  Borsro  Santa  Croce  his 
ear  was  struck  by  a  music  which  was  not  that  of  evenimj 
revelry,  but  of  vigorous  labor — the  music  of  the  anvil.  Tito 
gave  a  slight  start  and  quickened  his  pace,  for  the  sounds  had 
suggested  a  welcome  thought.  He  knew  that  they  came  from, 
the  workshop  of  Niccolo  Caparra,  famous  resort  of  all  Floren- 
tines who  cared  for  curious  and  beautiful  iron-work. 

"What  makes  the  giant  at  work  so  late?"  thought  Tito. 
"  But  so  much  the  better  for  me.  I  can  do  that  little  bit  of 
business  to-night  instead  of  to-morrow  morning." 

Preoccupied  as  he  was,  he  could  not  help  pausing  a  mo- 
ment in  admiration  as  he  came  in  front  of  the  work-shop. 
The  wide  door-way,  standing  at  the  truncated  angle  of  a  great 
block  or  "  isle  "  of  houses,  was  surmounted  by  a  loggia  roofed 
with  fluted  tiles,  and  supported  by  stone  columns  with  rough- 
ly carved  capitals.  Against  the  red  light  framed  in  by  the 
outline  of  the  fluted  tiles  and  columns  stood  in  black  relief 
the  grand  figure  of  Niccolo,  with  his  huge  arms  in  i-hythmical 
rise  and  fall,  first  hiding  and  then  disclosing  the  profile  of  his 
firm  mouth  and  powerful  brow.  Two  slighter  ebony  figures, 
one  at  the  anvil,  the  other  at  the  bellows,  served  to  set  off  his 
superior  massiveness. 

Tito  darkened  the  door-Avay  with  a  very  different  outline, 
standing  in  silence,  since  it  was  useless  to  speak  until  Niccolo 
should  deign  to  pause  and  notice  him.  That  was  not  until 
the  smith  had  beaten  the  head  of  an  axe  to  the  due  sharpness 
of  edge  and  dismissed  it  from  his  anvil.  But  in  the  mean 
time  Tito  had  satisfied  himself  by  a  glance  round  the  shop  that 
the  object  of  which  he  was  in  search  had  not  disappeai'ed. 

Niccolo  gave  an  unceremonious  but  good-humored  nod  as 
he  turned  from  the  anvil  and  rested  his  hammer  on  his  hip. 

"  What  is  it,  Messer  Tito  ?     Business  ?" 

"Assuredly,  Niccolo;  else  I  should  not  have  ventured  to 
interrupt  you  when  you  are  working  out  of  hours,  since  I 
take  that  as  a  sign  that  your  work  is  pressing." 

"I've  been  at  the  same  work  all  day — making  axes  and 
spear-heads.  And  every  fool  that  has  passed  ray  shop  has 
put  his  pumpkin-head  in  to  say, '  Niccolo,  wilt  thou  not  come 
and  see  the  King  of  France  and  his  soldiers?'  And  Fve  an- 
swered, '  No :  I  don't  want  to  see  their  faces — I  want  to  se© 
their  backs.' " 

10 


il8  BOMOLA. 

"Are  you  making  arms  for  the  citizens,  then,  Niccol6? — 
that  they  may  liave  something  better  than  rusty  scytlies  and 
spits  in  case  of  an  u])roar  ?" 

"We  shall  see.  Arms  are  good,  and  Florence  is  likely  to 
want  them.  The  Frate  tells  us  we  shall  get  Pisa  again,  and  I 
hold  with  the  Frate ;  but  I  should  be  glad  to  know  how  the 
promise  is  to  be  fuliilled,  if  we  don't  get  pk'iity  of  good  weap- 
ons forged?  The  Frate  sees  a  long  way  before  iiim — that  I 
believe.  But  he  doesn't  see  birds  caught  witli  winking  at 
tliem,  as  some  of  our  people  try  to  make  out.  He  sees  sense, 
and  not  nonsense.  But  you're  a  bit  of  a  Medicean,  ^Nlesser  Tito 
Melema.  Ebbene  !  so  I've  been  myself  in  my  time,  before  the 
cask  began  to  run  sour.     What's  your  business?" 

"Simply  to  know  the  price  of  that  fine  coat  of  mail  I  saw 
hanging  up  here  the  other  day.  I  want  to  buy  it  for  a  cer- 
tain personage  who  needs  a  protection  of  that  sort  under  his 
doublet." 

"  Let  him  come  and  buy  it  liimself,  then,"  said  Kiccolo, 
bUmtly.  "  Fm  rather  nice  about  what  I  sell,  and  whom  I  sell 
to.     1  like  to  know  who's  my  customer." 

"I  know  your  scruples,  Niccolo,  But  that  is  only  defen- 
sive armor  :  it  can  hurt  nobody," 

"  True  ;  but  it  may  make  the  man  who  wears  it  feel  him- 
self all  the  safer  if  he  should  want  to  hurt  somebody.  No, 
no :  it's  not  my  own  work  ;  but  it's  fine  work  of  Maso  of  l^res- 
cia:  I  should  "be  loath  for  it  to  cover  the  heart  of  a  scoundrel. 
I  must  know  who  is  to  wear  it." 

"Well,  then,  to  be  plain  with  you,  Alrcolo  niio,l  want  it 
mvr.clf,"  said  Tito,  knowing  it  was  useless  to  try  persuasion, 
"The  fact  is, I  am  likely  to  have  a  journey  to  take— and  you 
know  what  journeying'is  in  these  times.  You  don't  suspect 
me  of  treason  against  the  lU'public?" 

"  No,  I  know  no  harm  of  you,"  said  Niccolo,  in  his  blunt 
way  again.  "  J5ut  have  you  the  money  to  pay  for  the  coat  ? 
For  you've  passed  my  shop  often  enough  to  know  my  sign : 
you've  seen  the  burning  account-books — I  trust  nobody.  '1  he 
])rice  is  twenty  florins,  and  that's  because  it's  second-hand. 
You're  not  likely  to  have  so  much  with  you.  Let  it  be  till  to- 
morrow." 

"I  happen  to  have  the  money,"  said  Tito,  who  had  been 
wiiming  at  play  all  the  day  before,  and  had  not  emi)tied  his 
purse.     "  ril  carry  the  armor  home  with  me." 

Niccolo  reached  down  the  finely  wrought  coal,  which  fell 
together  into  little  more  than  two  handfuls. 
V   "  There,  then,"  he  said,  when  the  florins  had  been  told  down 
on  his  palm.     "Take  the  coat.     It's  made  to  cheat  sword  or 


EOMOLA.  210 

poniard,  or  arrow.  Bvit  for  my  part  I  would  never  put  such 
a  thing  on.     It's  like  carrying  fear  about  with  one." 

Niccolo's  words  had  an  unpleasant  intensity  of  meaning 
for  Tito.     But  he  smiled  and  said, 

"  Ah,  Niccolo,  we  scholars  are  all  cowards.  Handling  the 
pen  doesn't  thicken  the  arm  as  your  hammer-wielding  does, 
Addio !" 

He  folded  the  armor  under  his  mantle  and  hastened  home^ 
ward  across  the  Poute  Rubaconte. 


CHAPTER  XXVH. 

THE    YOUNG    WIFE. 

While  Tito  was  hastening  across  the  bridge  with  the  new- 
bought  armor  under  his  mantle,  Romola  was  pacing  up  and 
down  the  old  library,  thinking  of  him  and  longing  for  his  re- 
turn. 

It  was  but  a  few  fair  faces  that  had  not  looked  forth  from 
%vindows  that  day  to  see  the  entrance  of  the  French  king  and 
liis  nobles.  One  of  the  few  Av^as  Romola's.  She  had  been 
present  at  no  festivities  since  her  father  had  died — died  quite 
suddenly  in  his  chair,  three  months  before. 

"Is  not  Tito  coming  to  write?"  he  had  said,  when  the  bell 
had  long  ago  sounded  the  usual  hour  in  the  evening.  He  had 
not  asked  before,  from  dread  of  a  negative  ;  but  Romola  had 
seen  by  his  listening  face  and  restless  movements  that  nothing 
else  was  in  his  mind. 

"  No,  father,  lie  had  to  go  to  a  supper  at  the  cardinal's : 
you  know  he  is  wanted  so  much  by  every  one,"  she  answered, 
in  a  tone  of  gentle  excuse. 

"  Ah !  then  perhaps  he  will  bring  some  ffesitive  word 
about  the  library  ;  the  cardinal  promised  last  week,"  said  Bar- 
do,  apparently  pacified  by  this  hope. 

He  was  silent  a  little  while ;  then,  suddenly  flushing,  he 
■aid, 

"  I  must  go  on  without  him,  Romola.  Get  the  pen.  He 
has  brought  me  no  new  text  to  comment  on  ;  but  I  must  say 
what  I  want  to  say  about  the  New  Platonists.  I  shall  die 
and  nothing  will  have  been  done.     Make  haste,  my  Romola." 

"  I  am  ready,  father,"  she  said,  the  next  minute,  holding  the 
pen  in  her  hand. 

But  there  was  silence.  Romola  took  no  note  of  this  for  a  lit- 
tle while,  accustomed  to  pauses  in  dictation ;  and  when  at  last 
she  looked  round  inquiringly  there  was  no  change  of  attitude. 


fl 


220  ROMOLA. 

"  I  am  quite  ready,  father  !" 

Still  Bardo  was  silent,  and  his  silence  was  never  again 
broken. 

lioinola  lookc<l  back  on  that  hour  witli  some  iiid'iij^nation 
against  herself,  because  even  with  the  first  outburst  of  lier  sor- 
row there  had  mingled  the  irrepressible  thought,  "  Perhaps 
my  lift'  with  Tito  will  1)0  more  pi-rfect  now  !" 

For  the  ilream  of  a  triple  life  with  an  undivided  sum  of  ha[>- 
piness  had  not  been  quite  fultilled.  The  rainbow-tinted  show- 
er of  sweets,  to  have  been  ]»erfcetly  typical,  shf)uld  have  had 
some  invisible  seeds  of  bitterness  mingled  with  them  ;  the 
crowned  Ariadne,  under  the  snowing  roses,  had  felt  more  and 
more  the  ])resence  of  unexpected  thorns.  It  was  not  Tito's 
fault,  llomola  had  continually  assured  herself.  lie  was  still 
all  gentleness  to  her,  and  to  her  father  also.  But  it  was  in 
the  nature  of  things — she  saw  it  clearly  now — it  was  in  the 
nature  of  things  that  no  one  but  herself  could  go  on  month 
after  month,  and  year  after  year,  fulfilling  jjatiently  all  her  fa- 
ther's monotonous  exacting  demands.  Even  she,  whose  sym- 
pathy with  her  father  had  n^ade  all  the  passion  and  religion 
of  her  young  years,  had  not  always  been  ]>atient,had  been  in- 
wardly very  rebellious.  It  was  true  that  before  their  mar- 
riage, and  even  for  some  time  after,  Tito  had  seemed  more 
unwearying  than  herself ;  but  then,  of  course,  the  effort  had 
the  ease  of  novelty.  We  assume  a  load  with  confident  readi- 
ness, and  up  to  a  certain  point  the  growing  irksomeness  of 
pressure  is  tolerable ;  but  at  last  the  desire  for  relief  can  no 
longer  be  resisted.  Romola  said  to  liersclf  that  she  had  been 
very  foolish  and  ignorant  in  her  girlish  time  :  she  was  wiser 
now,  and  would  make  no  unfair  demands  on  the  man  to  whom 
she  had  given  her  best  woman's  love  and  worship.  The 
breath  of  sadness  that  still  cleaved  to  her  lot  while  she  saw 
her  father  month  after  month  sink  from  elation  into  new  dis- 
appointment as  Tito  gave  him  less  and  less  of  his  time,  and 
made  bland  excuses  for  not  continuing  his  own  share  of  the  joint 
work — that  sadness  was  no  fault  of  Tito's,  she  said,  but  rath- 
er of  their  inevitable  destiny.  If  he  staid  less  and  less  with 
her,  why,  that  was  because  they  could  hardly  ever  bo  alone. 
His  caresses  were  no  less  tender:  if  she  pleaded  timidly  on 
any  one  evening  that  he  should  stay  with  her  father  instead 
of  going  to  another  engagement  which  was  not  peremptory,  he 
excused  himself  with  such  charming  gayety,  he  seemed  to  lin- 
ger about  her  with  such  foTid  jilayfiilness  before  he  could  quit 
iier,  that  she  could  only  feel  a  little  heartaclie  in  the  midst  of 
her  love,  and  then  go  to  her  father  and  try  to  soften  his  vex- 
ation and  disaj)pointment,  while  inwardly  her  imagination  was 


EOMOLA.  221 

busy  trying  to  see  how  Tito  could  be  as  good  as  she  had 
thought  he  was,  and  yet  find  it  impossible  to  sacrifice  those 
pleasures  of  society  which  were  necessarily  more  vivid  to  a 
bright  creature  like  him  than  to  the  common  run  of  men. 
She  herself  would  have  liked  more  gayety,  more  admiration  : 
it  was  true,  she  gave  it  up  willingly  for  her  father's  sake — 
she  would  have  given  up  much  more  than  that  for  the  sake 
even  of  a  slight  wish  on  Tito's  part.  It  was  clear  that  their 
natures  differed  widely ;  but  perhaps  it  was  no  more  than  the 
inherent  difference  between  man  and  woman  that  made  her 
affections  more  absorbing.  If  there  were  any  other  differ- 
ence she  tried  to  persuade  herself  that  the  inferiority  was  on 
her  side.  Tito  Avas  really  kinder  than  she  was,  better  temper- 
ed, less  proud  and  resentful ;  he  had  no  angry  retorts,  he  met 
all  complaints  with  perfect  sweetness ;  he  only  escaped  as 
quietly  as  he  could  from  things  that  were  unpleasant. 

It  belongs  to  every  large  nature,  when  it  is  not  under  the  im- 
mediate power  of  some  strong  unquestioning  emotion,  to  sus- 
pect itself,  and  doubt  the  truth  of  its  own  impressions,  con- 
scious of  possibilities  beyond  its  own  horizon.  And  Romola 
was  urged  to  doubt  herself  the  more  by  the  necessity  of  inter- 
preting her  disappointment  in  her  life  with  Tito  so  as  to  satis- 
fy at  once  her  love  and  her  jsride.  Disappointment?  Yes, 
tliere  was  no  other  milder  word  that  would  tell  the  truth. 
Perhaps  all  women  had  to  suffer  the  disappointment  of  igno- 
rant hopes,  if  she  only  knew  their  experience.  Still,  there 
had  been  something  peculiar  in  her  lot :  her  relation  to  her 
father  had  claimed  unusual  sacrifices  from  her  husband.  Tito 
had  once  thought  that  his  love  would  make  those  sacrifices 
easy  ;  his  love  had  not  been  great  enough  for  that.  She  was 
not  justified  in  resenting  a  self-delusion.  No  !  resentment 
must  not  rise  :  all  endurance  seemed  easy  to  Romola  rather 
than  a  state  of  mind  in  which  she  would  admit  to  herself  that 
Tito  acted  unworthily.  If  she  had  felt  a  new  heartache,  in 
the  solitary  hours  with  her  father  through  the  last  months  of 
his  life,  it  had  been  by  no  inexcusable  fault  of  her  husband's  ; 
and  now — it  was  a  hope  that  would  make  its  presence  felt 
even  in  the  first  moments  when  her  father's  i)lace  was  empty 
— there  was  no  longer  any  importunate  claim  to  divide  her 
from  Tito;  their  young  lives  would  flow  in  one  current,  and 
their  true  marriage  would  begin. 

But  the  sense  of  something  like  guilt  towards  her  father,  in 
a  hope  that  grew  out  of  his  death,  gave  all  the  more  force  to 
the  anxiety  with  which  she  dwelt  on  the  means  of  fulfilling  his 
supreme  wish.  That  piety  towards  his  memory  Avas  all  tho 
atonement  she  could  make  now  for  a  thought  that  seemed  akin 


Y 


222  UOMOLA. 

to  joy  at  liis  loss.  The  laborious  simple  life,  pure  from  vulijar 
corrupting  ambitions,  embittered  by  the  frustration  of  the 
dearest  lio|»es,  imj)risoned  at  last  in  total  darkness — a  lung 
seed-time  without  a  harvest — was  at  an  end  now,  and  all  that 
remained  of  it  besides  the  tablet  in  Santa  Croce  and  tlie  unlin- 
ished  manuscript,  long  rambling  commentary  on  Tito's  text, 
was  the  collection  of  manuscripts  and  anti((uities.  fruit  <>f  li;ilf 
a  century's  toil  and  fi-ugality.  Tlie  fullillment  of  her  father's 
life-long  ambition  about  this  library  was  a  sacramental  obliga- 
tion for  Komola. 

The  precious  relic  was  safe  from  creditors,  for  when  the 
deficit  towards  their  payment  had  been  ascertained,  Bernardo 
del  Nero,  though  he  was  far  from  being  among  the  wealthiest 
Florentines,  had  advanced  the  necessary  sum  of  about  a  thou- 
sand florins — a  large  sum  in  those  days — accepting  a  lieu  on 
the  collection  as  a  security. 

"The  State  will  repay  me,"  he  had  said  to  Romola,  making 
liglit  of  the  service  which  had  really  cost  him  some  inconve- 
nience.    '•  If  the  cardinal  linds  a  building,  as  he  seems  to  say  he 

CD  J  » 

will,  our  Signoria  may  consent  to  do  the  rest.  I  have  no  chil- 
dren, I  can  afford  the  risk." 

But  witliin  the  last  ten  days  all  hopes  in  the  Medici  had 
come  to  an  end :  and  the  famous  ]Medicean  collections  in  the 
Via  Larga  were  themselves  iji  danger  of  dispersion.  P'rench 
agents  had  already  begun  to  sec  that  such  very  fine  antique 
gems  as  Lorenzo  had  collected  belonged  by  right  to  the  first 
nation  in  Europe;  and  the  Florentine  State,  which  had  got 
possession  of  the  ^fedicean  library,  was  likely  to  be  glad  of  a 
custotner  for  it.  With  a  war  to  recover  Pisa  hanging  over  it, 
and  with  the  certainty  of  having  to  ]>ay  large  subsidies  to  the 
French  king,  the  State  was  likely  to  prefer  money  to  manu- 
scripts. 

To  Ilomola  these  gi"ave  political  changes  had  gathered  their 
chief  interest  from  their  bearing  on  the  fulfillment  of  her  fa- 
ther's wish.  She  had  been  biought  up  in  learned  seclusion 
from  the  interests  of  actual  life,  and  had  been  ascustomed  to 
think  of  heroic  deeds  and  great  ])rinci]>les  as  something  anti- 
thetic to  the  vulgar  present,  of  the  I'nyx  and  the  Forum  as 
something  more  wortliy  of  attention  than  the  councils  of  living 
Florentine  men.  An<l  now  the  expulsion  of  the  Medici  meant 
little  more  for  her  than  the  extinction  of  her  best  hojie  about 
her  father's  library.  The  times,  she  knew,  were  unpleasant 
for  friends  of  the  Mi-dici,  like  her  godfather  ami  Tito;  sujier- 
stitious  shop-keepers,  and  the  stupid  rabble,  were  full  of  sus- 
picions; but  lu'r  new  keen  interest  in  public  events,  in  the 
outbreak  of  war,  in  the  issue  of  the  French  king's  visit,  in  the 


KOMOLA.  223 

changes  that  were  likely  to  happen  in  the  State,  was  kindled 
solely  by  the  sense  of  love  and  duty  to  her  father's  memory. 
All  Romola's  ardor  had  been  concentrated  in  her  affections. 
Her  father's  learning  had  remained  for  her  a  pedantry  that 
was  tolerable  for  his  sake ;  and  Tito's  more  airy  brilliant  facul- 
ty had  no  attraction  for  her  that  was  not  merged  in  the  deeper 
sympathies  that  belong  to  young  love  and  trust.  Romola  had 
had  contact  with  no  mind  that  could  stir  the  larger  possibilities 
of  her  nature;  they  lay  folded  and  crushed  like  embryonic 
wings,  making  no  element  in  her  consciousness  beyond  an  occa- 
sional vague  uneasiness. 

But  this  new  personal  interest  of  hers  in  public  affairs  had 
made  her  care  at  last  to  understand  precisely  what  influence 
Fra  Girolamo's  preaching  was  likely  to  have  on  the  turn  of 
events.  Changes  in  the  form  of  the  State  were  talked  of,  and 
all  she  could  learn  from  Tito,  whose  secretaryship  and  service- 
able talents  carried  him  into  the  heart  of  public  business,  made 
her  only  the  more  eager  to  fill  out  her  lonely  day  by  going  to 
hear  for  herself  what  it  was  that  was  just  now  leading  all 
Florence  by  the  ears.  This  morning,  for  the  first  time,  she 
had  been  to  hear  one  of  the  Advent  sermons  in  the  Duomo. 
When  Tito  had  left  her  she  had  formed  a  sudden  resolution, 
and  after  visiting  the  spot  where  her  father  was  buried  in 
Santa  Croce,  had  walked  on  to  the  Duomo,  The  memory  of 
that  last  scene  with  Dino  was  still  vivid  within  her  whenever 
she  recalled  it,  but  it  had  receded  behind  the  experience  and 
anxieties  of  her  married  life.  The  new  sensibilities  and 
questions  which  it  had  half  awakened  in  her  were  quieted 
again  by  that  subjection  to  her  husband's  mind  which  is  felt 
by  every  wife  who  loves  her  husband  with  passionate  devoted- 
ness  and  full  reliance.  She  remembered  the  effect  of  Fra 
Girolamo's  voice  and  presence  on  her  as  a  ground  for  expect- 
ing that  his  sermon  might  move  her  in  spite  of  his  being  a 
narrow-minded  monk.  But  the  sermon  did  no  more  than 
slightly  deepen  her  previous  impression,  that  this  fanatical 
preacher  of  tribulations  was  after  all  a  man  towards  whom  it 
might  be  possible  for  her  to  feel  personal  regard  and  reve- 
rence. The  denunciations  and  exhortations  simply  arrested  her 
attention.  She  felt  no  terror,  no  pangs  of  conscience :  it  was 
the  roll  of  distant  thunder,  that  seemed  grand,  but  could  not 
shake  her.  But  when  she  heard  Savonarola  invoke  martyr- 
dom, she  sobbed  with  the  rest :  she  felt  herself  penetrated 
with  a  new  sensation — a  strange  sympathy  with  something 
apart  from  all  the  definable  interests  of  her  life.  It  was  not 
altogether  unlike  the  thrill  which  had  accompanied  certain 
rare  heroic  touches   in  history  and  poetry;  but   the  resem- 


224 


ROMOLA, 


bianco  was  as  tliat  between  tlie  nicmorv  of  music,  and  the 
sense  of  being  possessed  by  actual  vibratint,'  liaitnoiiics. 

But  lliat  transient  emotion,  strong  as  it  was,  seemed  to  lie 
quite  outside  the  inner  chamber  and  sanctuary  of  licr  life. 
She  was  not  thinking  of  Fra  Girolamo  now  ;  slij  was  listcjiinrr 
anxiously  for  the  step  of  her  husband.     Durin«r  these  three 


months  of  their  double  solitude  she  had  thought  of  each  day 
as  an  epoch  in  whicli  their  uiiion  might  begin  (o  be  m«tic  j»er- 
fect.  She  was  conscious  of  being  sometimes  a  little  too  sad 
or  too  urgent  about  what  concerned  her  father's  memory — a 
little  too  critical  or  coldly  silent  when  Tito  narrated  the 
things  that  were  said  and  done  in  the  world  he  frei|uentcd — a 
little  too  hasty  hi  suggesting  tliat  by  living  <|uite  simply  as 
her  father  ha<l  done,  they  might  become  rich  enough  to  pay 
Bernardo  del  Nero,  and  reduce  the  <lifficulties  about  the  li- 
brary. It  was  not  possible  that  Tito  could  feel  so  strongly 
on  this  last  point  as  she  did,  and  it  Avas  asking  a  great  deal 
from  him  to  give  up  luxuries  for  which  he  really  labored. 
The  next  time  Tito  came  home  she  wotdd  be  careftd  to  su|i- 
presa  all  thc^se  i>romptings  tiiat  seemed  to  isolate  her  from 
him.  Koniola  was  laboring,  as  every  loving  woman  must,  to 
subdue  her  nature  to  her  husband's.     The  great  need  of  her 


ROMOLA.  225 

heart  compelled  her  to  strangle,  with  desperate  resolution, 
every  rising  impulse  of  suspicion,  pride,  and  resentment;  she 
felt  equal  to  any  self-infliction  that  would  save  her  from  ceas- 
incr  to  love.  That  would  have  been  like  the  hideous  nisjht- 
mare  in  which  tlie  world  had  seemed  to  break  away  all  round 
her,  and  leave  her  feet  overhanging  the  darkness.  Romola 
had  never  distinctly  imagined  sucli  a  future  for  herself;  she 
was  only  beginning  to  feel  the  presence  of  effort  iu  that  cling- 
ing trust  which  had  once  been  mere  repose. 

She  waited  and  listened  long,  for  Tito  had  not  come 
straight  home  after  leaving  Niccolo  Caparra,  and  it  Avas  more 
than  two  hours  after  the  time  when  he  was  crossing  the  Ponte 
Rubaconte  that  Romola  heard  the  great  door  of  the  court 
turning  on  its  hinges,  and  hastened  to  the  head  of  the  stone 
steps.  There  was  a  lamp  hanging  over  the  stairs,  and  they 
could  see  each  other  distinctly  as  he  ascended.  The  eighteen 
months  had  produced  a  more  definable  change  in  Romola's 
face  than  in  Tito's :  the  expression  was  more  subdued,  less 
cold,  and  more  beseeching,  and,  as  the  pink  flush  overspread 
her  face  now,  in  her  joy  that  the  long  waiting  was  at  an  end, 
she  was  much  lovelier  than  on  tlie  day  when  Tito  had  first 
seen  her.  On  that  day  any  on-looker  would  have  said  that 
Romola's  nature  was  made  to  command,  and  Tito's  to  bend ; 
yet  now  Romola's  mouth  was  quivering  a  little,  and  there  was 
some  timidity  in  her  glance. 

He  made  an  effort  to  smile,  as  she  said, 

"  My  Tito,  you  are  tired  ;  it  has  been  a  fatiguing  day :  is  it 
not  true  ?" 

Maso  was  there,  and  no  more  was  said  until  they  had 
crossed  the  antechamber  and  closed  the  door  of  the  library 
behind  them.  The  wood  was  burning  brightly  on  the  great 
dogs ;  that  was  one  welcome  for  Tito,  late  as  he  Avas,  and 
Romola's  gentle  voice  was  another. 

He  just  turned  and  kissed  her,  when  she  took  off  his  man- 
tle, then  went  towards  a  high-backed  chair  placed  for  him  near 
the  fire,  threw  himself  into  it,  and  flung  away  his  cap,  saying, 
not  peevishly,  but  in  a  fatigued  tone  of  remonstrance,  as  he 
gave  a  slight  sh«dder, 

"  Romola,  I  wish  you  would  give  up  sitting  in  this  library. 
Surely  our  own  rooms  are  pleasanter  iu  this  chill  weather." 

Romola  felt  hurt.  She  had  never  seen  Tito  so  indifferent 
in  his  manner ;  he  was  usually  full  of  lively  solicitous  atten- 
tion. And  she  had  thought  so  much  of  his  return  to  her  af- 
ter the  long  day's  absence  !     He  must  be  very  weary. 

"  I  wonder  you  have  forgotten,  Tito,"  she  answered,  look- 
ing at  him  anxiously,  as  if  she  wanted  to  read  an  exci'se  for 

in* 


226  KOMOLA. 

him  in  the  signs  of  bodily  fatigue.  "  You  know  I  am  making 
the  catalogue  on  the  new  phui  that  my  failicr  wished  for;  you 
Lave  Ui){  time  tu  help  me,  su  T  must  work  at  it  closely." 

Tito,  instead  of  meeting  liomula's  glance,  closed  his  eyes 
and  rubbed  his  hands  over  his  face  and  hair,  lie  felt  he  was 
behaving  unlike  himself,  but  he  would  make  amends  to-mor- 
row. The  terrible  resurrection  of  secret  fears,  which,  if  Itom- 
ola  had  known  them,  would  have  alienated  her  from  him 
forever,  caused  liim  to  feel  an  alienation  already  begun  bo- 
tw4>H  them — caused  him  to  feel  a  certain  repulsion  towards  a 
woman  from  whose  mind  he  was  in  danger.  The  feeling  had 
taken  hold  of  him  unawares,  and  he  was  vexed  with  himself 
for  behaving  in  this  new  cold  way  to  her.  He  could  not  sud- 
denly command  any  affectionate  looks  or  words;  he  could 
only  exeit  himself  to  say  what  might  serve  as  an  excuse. 

"I  am  not  well,  Komola;  you  must  be  not  surprised  if  I 
am  peevish." 

•'  Ah,  you  have  had  so  much  to  tire  you  to-day,"  said  Ro- 
raola,  kneeling  down  close  to  him,  and  laying  her  arm  on  his 
chest  while  she  put  his  hair  back  caressingly. 

Suddenly  she  drew  her  arm  away  with  a  start  and  a  gaze 
of  alarmed  inquiry. 

"  What  have  you  got  on  under  your  tunic,  Tito?  Some- 
thing as  hard  as  iron." 

"It  is  iron — it  is  chain  armor,"  he  said  at  once.  lie  was 
prepared  for  the  surprise  and  the  (piestion,  and  he  spoke 
quietly,  as  of  something  that  lie  was  not  hurried  to  explain. 

"There  was  sonu-  unexpected  danger  to-day,  then  V"  said 
Romola,  in  a  tone  of  conjecture.  "  You  had  it  lent  to  you  for 
the  procession  ?" 

"  No ;  it  is  my  own.  I  shall  be  obliged  to  wear  it  con- 
stantly for  some  time." 

"What  is  it  that  threatens  you,  my  Tito?"  said  Romola, 
looking  terrified,  and  clinging  to  him  again. 

"  Every  one  is  threatened  in  these  times  who  is  not  a  rabid 
enemy  of  the  Medici.  Don't  look  distressed,  my  Romola; 
this  armor  will  make  mo  safe  against  covert  attacks." 

Tito  j)nt  his  hand  on  her  neck  and  smiled.^  This  little  dia- 
logue about  the  armor  had  broken  through  the  new  crust,  and 
made  a  channel  for  the  old  sweet  habit  oi  kindness. 

'■  But  my  godfather,  then,"  said  Romola;  "  is  not  he,  too, 
in  danger?  And  he  takes  no  ])recautions — ought  he  not? 
since  he  must  surely  be  in  more  danger  than  you,  who  have 
so  little  influence  compared  with  him." 

"It  is  just  because  I  am  les«  important  that  I  am  in  more 
danger,"  said  Tito,  readily.     "I  am  suspected  constantly  of 


ROMOLA.  227 

being  an  envoy.  And  men  like  Messer  Bernardo  are  protected 
by  their  position  and  their  extended  family  connections,  which 
spread  among  all  parties,  Avhile  I  am  a  Greek  that  nobody 
would  avenge." 

"  But,  Tito,  is  it  a  fear  of  some  particular  person,  or  only  a 
vague  sense  of  danger  that  has  made  you  think  of  wearing 
this  r"  Roraola  was  unable  to  repel  the  idea  of  a  degrading 
fear  in  Tito  which  mingled  itself  with  her  anxiety. 

"  I  have  had  special  threats,"  said  Tito ;  "  but  I  must  beg 
you  to  be  silent  on  the  subject,  my  Romola.  I  shall  consider 
that  you  have  broken  my  confidence  if  you  mention  it  to  your 
godfather." 

"  Assuredly  I  will  not  mention  it,"  said  Romola,  flushing, 
"  if  you  wish  it  to  be  a  secret.  But,  dearest  Tito,"  she  added, 
after  a  moment's  pause,  in  a  tone  of  loving  anxiety,  "  it  will 
make  you  very  wretched." 

"What  will  make  me  wretched?"  he  said,  with  a  scarcely 
perceptible  movement  across  his  face,  as  from  some  darting 
sensation. 

"This  feai' — this  heavy  armor.  I  can't  help  shuddering  as 
I  feel  it  under  my  arm.  I  could  fancy  it  a  story  of  enchant- 
ment— that  some  malignant  fiend  had  changed  your  sensitive 
Imman  skin  into  a  hard  shell.  It  seems  so  unlike  my  bright, 
liglit-hearted  Tito  !" 

"  Then  you  would  rather  have  your  husband  exposed  to 
danger  when  he  leaves  you  ?"  said  Tito,  smiling.  "  If  you 
don't  mind  my  being  poniarded  or  shot,  why  need  I  mind  ? 
I  will  give  up  the  armor  ;  shall  I '?" 

"  No,  Tito,  no.  I  am  fanciful.  Do  not  heed  what  I  have 
said.  But  such  crimes  are  surely  not  common  in  Florence  ? 
I  have  always  heard  my  father  and  godfather  say  so.  Have 
they  become  frequent  lately  ?" 

"  It  is  not  unlikely  they  will  become  frequent,  with  the  bit- 
ter hatreds  that  are  being  bred  continually." 

Romola  was  silent  a  few  moments.  She  shrank  from  in- 
sisting further  on  the  subject  of  the  armor.  She  tried  to 
shake  it  off. 

"  Tell  me  what  has  happened  to-day,"  she  said,  in  a  cheer- 
ful tone.     "  Has  all  gone  off  well  ?" 

"  Excellently  well.  First  of  all,  the  rain  came  and  put  an 
end  to  Luca  Corsini's  oration,  Avhich  nobody  wanted  to  hear, 
and  a  ready-tongued  personage — some  say  it  was  Gaddi,  some 
say  it  was  Melema,  but  really  it  was  done  so  quickly  no  one 
knows  who  it  was — had  the  honor  of  giving  the  Cristianissimo 
the  briefest  possible  Avelcome  in  bad  French." 

"  Tito,  it  was  you,  I  know,"  said  Romola,  smiling  brightly, 


228  ROMOLA. 

ami  kissiiiGj  liim.     *'■  IIow  is  it  you  never  care  about  claiming 
any  lliiiig V     And  after  that?" 

''  Oh  r  after  that  there  was  a  show  of  armor,  and  jewels, 
and  tr:i]i|)inLCS,  sucli  as  you  saw  at  thi'  last  Flon-ntine  i/iostra, 
only  a  great  deal  more  of  them.  There  \vas  stiuttin''  and 
prancing,  and  confusion,  and  scrambling,  and  the  people  shout- 
ed, an<l  the  Cristianissimo  smiled  from  ear  to  ear.  And  af- 
ter that  there  was  a  great  deal  of  flattery,  and  eatingT  and 
play.  I  was  at  Toruabuoui's.  I  will  tell  you  about  it  to-mor- 
row." 

*'  Yes,  dearest ;  never  mind  now.  liut  is  there  any  more 
hope  that  tilings  will  end  peaceably  for  Florence  —  that  th« 
Republic  will  not  got  into  fresh  troubles  ?" 

Tito  gave  a  shrug.  "  Florence  will  have  no  peace  but 
what  it  pays  well  for  ;  that  is  clear." 

Komola's  face  sinldcned,  Ijut  she  checked  herself,  and  said 
cheerfully,  "  You  would  not  guess  where  I  went  to-day,  Tito. 
I  went  to  the  Duomo  to  hear  Fra  (rirolamo." 

Tito  looked  startled  ;  he  had  immedi;ilely  thought  of  Bal- 
dassarre's  entrance  into  the  Duomo.  Uut  Kumola  gave  his 
look  another  meaning. 

"  You  are  surprise<l,  are  you  not  ?  It  was  a  sudden  thought, 
I  want  to  know  nil  al)out  the  public  affairs  now,  and  1  deter- 
mined to  hear  for  myself  what  the  Frate  promised  the  people 
about  this  French  invasion." 

"  Well,  and  what  did  you  think  of  the  prophet?" 

"He  certainly  has  a  very  mysterious  power,  that  man.  A 
great  deal  of  his  sermon  was  what  I  expected ;  but  once  I  was 
strangely  move<l — I  sobbed  with  the  rest." 

"Take  care,  Ilomola,"  said  Tito,  playfully,  feeling  relieved 
that  she  had  said  nothing  about  lialdassarre ;  "you  have  a 
touch  of  fanaticism  in  von.  I  shall  have  vou  seeing  visions 
like  your  brother." 

"  No  ;  it  was  the  same  with  every  one  else.  lie  carried 
them  ail  with  hiin  ;  unless  it  were  that  irross  Dolfo  Spini, 
whom  I  saw  there  making  grimaces.  Tliere  was  even  a 
wretched-looking  man,  with  a  rope  round  his  neck — an  escaped 
prisoner,  I  should  think,  who  had  run  in  for  shelter — a  very 
wild-eved  old  man  :  I  saw  him  with  trreat  tears  rolling  down 
his  checks  as  he  looked  and  listenefl  (piite  eagerly." 

'^riiere  was  a  slight  ])ause  before  Tito  spoke. 

"  I  saw  the  man,"  he  said,  "  the  prisoner.  I  was  outside 
the  Duomo  with  Loren/o  Tornabuoni  whi-n  he  ran  in.  lie 
ha<l  escaped  from  a  French  soldier.  Did  you  see  him  when 
you  came  out  ?" 

"  Noj  he  M'cnt  out  with  our  good  old  Piero  di  Cosimo.     I 


ROMOLA.  22S 

saw  Piero  come  in  and  cut  off  his  rope,  and  take  him  out  of 
the  church.     Brt  you  want  rest,  Tito  '?     You  feel  ill  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Tito,  rising.  The  horrible  sense  that  he  must 
live  in  continual  dread  of  what  Baldassarre  had  said  or  done 
pressed  upon  him  like  a  cold  weight. 


CHAPTER  XXVm. 

THE     PAINTED     RECORD. 

Four  days  later  Romola  was  on  her  way  to  the  house  of 
Piero  di  Co'simo,  in  the  Via  Gualfonda.  Some  of  the  streets 
through  which  she  had  to  pass  were  lined  with  Frenchmen 
who  were  gazing  at  Florence,  and  with  Florentines  who  were 
gazing  at  the  French,  and  the  gaze  was  not  on  either  side  en- 
tirely friendly  and  admiring.  The  first  nation  in  Europe  of 
necessity  finding  itself,  when  out  of  its  own  country,  in  the 
presence  of  general  inferiority,  naturally  assumed  an  air  of 
conscious  pre-eminence ;  antl  the  Florentines,  who  had  taken 
such  pains  to  play  the  host  amiably,  were  getting  into  the 
worst  humor  with  their  too  superior  guests. 

For  after  the  first  smiling  compliments  and  festivities  were 
over — after  wondrous  Mysteries  with  unrivalled  machinei-y  of 
floating  clouds  and  angels  had  been  presented  in  churches — 
after  the  royal  guest  had  honored  Florentine  dames  with  much 
of  his  Most  Christian  ogling  at  balls  and  suppers,  and  business 
had  begun  to  be  talked  of — it  appeared  that  the  new  Char- 
lemagne regarded  Florence  as  a  conquered  city,  inasmuch  as 
he  had  entered  it  with  his  lance  in  rest,  talked  of  leaving  his 
viceroy  behind  him,  and  had  thoughts  of  bringing  back  the 
Medici.  Singular  logic  this  appeared  to  be  on  the  part  of  an 
elect  instrument  of  God  !  since  the  policy  of  Piero  de'  Medici, 
disowned  by  the  people,  had  been  the  only  offense  of  Florence 
against  the  majesty  of  France.  And  Florence  was  determined 
not  to  submit.  The  determination  Avas  being  expressed  very 
strongly  in  consultations  of  citizens  inside  the  Old  Palace,  and 
it  was  beginning  to  show  itself  on  the  broad  flags  of  the  street? 
and  piazze  wherever  there  was  an  opportunity  of  flouting  an 
insolent  Frenchman.  Under  these  circumstances  the  streets 
were  not  altogether  a  pleasant  promenade  for  well-born  wom- 
en ;  but  Romola,  shrouded  in  her  black  veil  and  mantle,  and 
with  old  Maso  by  her  side,  felt  secure  enough  from  imperti- 
nent observation. 

And  she  was  impatient  to  visit  Piero  di  Cosimo.  A  copy 
df  her  father's  portrait  as  CEdipus,  which  he  had  long  ago  un- 


230  UOMOLA. 

dert.ikcn  to  make  for  her,  was  not  yet  luuslied  ;  and  Piero 
was  so  uncertain  in  his  work — sometimes,  when  the  demand 
was  not  peremptory,  laying  aside  a  picture  for  months  ;  some- 
times thrusting  it  into  the  corner  or  coffer,  where  it  was  likely 
to  lie  utterly  forgotten — that  she  felt  it  necessary  to  watch 
over  his  progress.  She  was  a  favorite  with  the  j)aintcr,  and 
he  was  inclined  to  fulfill  any  wish  of  hers,  but  Ud  general  in- 
clination could  be  trusted  as  a  safeguard  against  his  sudden 
whims.  He  had  told  h^-  the  week  before  that  the  ])icture 
would  perhaps  be  finished  by  this  time ;  and  Iiomola  was 
nervously  anxious  to  have  in  her  ])ossession  a  copy  of  the  only 
portrait  existing  other  father  in  the  days  of  his  blindness,  lest 
his  image  should  grow  dim  in  her  mind.  Tlie  sense  of  defect 
in  her  devotedness  to  her  made  him  cling  with  all  the  force 
of  compunction  as  well  as  affection  to  the  duties  of  memory. 
Love  does  not  aim  simply  at  the  conscious  good  of  the  beloved 
object;  it  is  not  satisfied  without  perfect  loyalty  of  heart;  it 
aims  at  its  own  completeness. 

IJomola.  by  special  favor,  was  allowed  to  intrude  on  the 
painter  without  previous  notice.  She  lifted  the  iron  slide  and 
called  Piero  in  a  flute-like  tone,  as  the  little  maiden  with  the 
eggs  had  done  in  Tito's  presence.  I'iero  was  quick  in  answer- 
ing, but  when  he  opened  the  door  he  accounted  for  his  quick- 
ness in  a  manner  that  was  not  comi)limentary. 

"  Ah,  Madonna  Pomola,  is  it  you  !  I  thought  my  eggs  were 
come  ;  I  wanted  them." 

"  I  have  brought  you  something  better  than  hard  eggs, 
Piero,  Maso  has  got  a  little  basket  full  of  cakes  and  confetti 
for  yoii,"  said  Pomola,  smiling,  as  she  put  back  her  veil.  She 
took  the  basket  from  ]Maso,  and  stej>i)ing  into  the  house,  said, 

"  I  know  you  like  these  things  when  you  can  have  thera 
without  trouble.     Confess  you  do." 

"  Yes,  when  they  come  to  me  as  easily  as  the  light  does," 
said  Piero,  folding  his  arms  and  looking  down  at  the  sweet- 
meats as  Komola  uncovered  them  and  glanced  at  him  archly. 
*' And  they  are  come  along  with  the  light  now,"  he  added, 
lifting  his  eyes  to  her  face  and  hair  with  a  painter's  admira- 
tion, as  her  hood,  dragged  by  the  weight  of  her  veil,  fell  back 
sward. 

"  J>ut  I  know  what  the  sweetmeats  are  for,"  he  went  on  ; 
"  they  are  to  stoj)  my  mouth  while  you  scold  n)C.  Well,  go 
on  into  the  next  room  and  you  will  see  I've  done  something  to 
the  ]iicttn-e  since  you  saw  it,  though  it's  not  Hnished  yet.  But 
I  didn't  promise,  you  know  :   1  take  care  not  to  promise  * 

"  '  Chi  promette  e  non  mnntiene. 
L'anima  sua  non  va  mai  bene.'  " 


ROMOLA.  231 

The  door  opening  on  the  wild  garden  Avas  closed  now,  and 
the  painter  was  at  work.  Not  at  Romola's  picture,  however. 
That  was  standing  on  the  floor,  propped  against  the  wall,  and 
Piero  stooped  to  lift  it,  that  he  might  carry  it  into  the  proper 
light.  But  in  lifting  away  this  picture  he  had  disclosed  an- 
other— the  oil-sketch  of  Tito,  to  which  he  had  made  an  im- 
portant addition  within  the  last  few  days.  It  was  so  much 
smaller  than  the  other  picture  that  it  stood  far  within  it,  and 
Piero,  apt  to  forget  where  he  had  placed  any  thing,  was  not 
aware  of  what  he  had  revealed  as,  peering  at  some  detail  in  the 
painting  which  he  held  in  his  hands,  he  went  to  place  it  on  an 
easel.     But  Romola  exclaimed,  flushing  with  astonishment, 

"  That  is  Tito  !" 

Piero  looked  round,  and  gave  a  silent  shrug.  He  was  vexed 
at  his  owu  forgetfulness. 

She  was  still  looking  at  the  sketch  in  astonishment ;  but 
pi-esently  she  turned  towards  the  painter  and  said,  with  puzzled 
alarm, 

'•■  What  a  strange  picture  !  When  did  you  paint  it  ?  What 
does  it  mean  ?" 

"  A  mere  fancy  of  mine,"  said  Piero,  lifting  off  his  skull- 
cap, scratching  his  head,  and  making  the  usual  grimace  by 
which  he  avoided  the  betrayal  of  any  feeling.  "  I  wanted  a 
handsome  young  face  for  it,  and  your  husband's  was  just  the 
thing." 

He  went  forward,  stooped  down  to  the  picture,  and,  lifting 
it  aAvay  Avith  its  back  to  Romola,  pretended  to  be  giving  it  a 
passing  examination  before  putting  it  aside  as  a  thing  not  good 
enough  to  show. 

But  Romola,  who  had  the  fact  of  the  armor  in  her  mind, 
and  was  penetrated  by  this  strange  coincidence  of  things  which 
associated  Tito  with  the  idea  of  fear,  went  to  his  elbow  and 
said, 

"  Don't  put  it  away  ;  let  me  look  again.  That  man  with 
the  rope  round  his  neck — I  saw  him — I  saw  yoix  come  to  him 
in  the  Duomo.  What  was  it  that  made  you  put  him  into  a 
picture  with  Tito  ?" 

Piero  saw  no  better  resource  than  to  tell  part  of  the  truth. 

"  It  was  a  mere  accident.  The  man  was  running  away — 
running  up  the  steps,  and  caught  hold  of  your  husband  :  I  sup- 
pose he  had  stumbled.  I  happened  to  be  there  and  saw  it,  and 
I  thought  the  savage-looking  old  fellow  was  a  good  subject. 
But  it's  worth  nothing — it's  only  a  freakish  daub  of  mine," 
Piero  ended,  contemptuously,  moving  the  sketch  away  with  an 
air  of  decision,  and  putting  it  on  a  high  shelf.  "  Come  and 
look  at  the  CEdipus." 


232  ROMOL.V. 

lie  had  shown  a  little  too  much  anxiety  in  pnttinc^  the 
skt'tcli  out  (A  licr  sight,  and  li.id  inothicfd  iht,-  wry  iniprt'ssiou 
1k'  liad  sought  to  prevent — that  there  was  really  something 
uiiplrasaiit,  sonu'thiiig  disadvantageous  to  Tito,  in  the  circuni- 
stances  out  of  which  the  jticture  arose.  But  this  impression 
silenced  iier :  her  ])ride  and  delicacy  shrank  from  (piestioning 
further,  where  questions  might  seem  to  imply  that  she  could 
entertain  even  a  slight  suspicion  against  her  husband.  She 
meri'ly  said,  in  as  (piiet  a  tone  as  she  could, 

"He  was  a  strange,  pitcousdooking  man,  that  prisoner. 
Do  you  know  any  thing  more  of  him?" 

"No  more:  1  showed  him  the  way  to  the  hospital,  that's 
all.  See,  now,  the  face  of  (Edi])us  is  pretty  nearly  iinished ; 
tell  me  what  you  think  of  it." 

Komola  now  gave  her  whole  attention  to  her  father's  por- 
trait, standing  in  long  silence  before  it. 

"  Ah !"  she  said  at  last,  "  you  have  done  wh.it  I  wanted. 
You  liavc  given  it  more  of  the  listejiing  look.  My  good  Pie- 
TO " — she  turned  towards  him  with  bright  moist  eyes — "I  am 
very  grateful  to  you." 

"  Xow  that's  what  I  can't  bear  in  you  women,"  said  Piero, 
turning  im])atiently,  and  kicking  aside  the  objects  that  littered 
the  floor — "  you  are  always  j)ouring  out  feelintrs  where  there's 
no  call  for  them.  Why  should  you  be  grateful  to  me  for  a 
picture  you  pay  me  for,  especially  when  I  make  you  wait  for 
it?  And  if  I  paint  a  ])icture,  I  suppose  it's  for  my  own 
pleasure  and  credit  to  paint  it  well,  eh  ?  Are  you  to  thank  a 
man  for  not  being  a  rogue  or  ;i  noodle?  It's  enough  if  he 
himself  thanks  Messer  Doineiieddio,  who  has  made  liim  nei- 
ther the  one  nor  the  other.  Jjut  women  think  walls  are  held 
together  M'ith  honey," 

"  You  criisty  Piero  !  I  forgot  how  snapjnsh  you  are.  Here, 
put  this  nice  sweetmeat  in  your  mouth,""  said  liomola,  smiling 
through  her  tears,  and  taking  something  very  erisj)  and  sweet 
from  the  little  basket. 

Piero  accepted  it  very  much  as  that  proverl)ial  bear  that 
Jreains  of  ])e:irs  might  accept  an  exceedingly  mellow  '*  swan* 
ii^^'j;^^ — really  liking  the  gift,  but  accustomed  to  have  his  pleas- 
ires  and  pains  concealed  under  a  shaggy  coat. 

"  It's  good,  ISIailonna  ^Vntigone,"  said  Piero,  putting  his  fin- 
gers in  the  basket  for  another.  He  had  eaten  nothing  but 
haril  eggs  for  a  fortnight.  Homola  stood  opposite  him,  feel- 
ing her  new  anxiety  suspeiuled  for  a  little  wliile  by  the  sight 
of  this  nahe  eni<iyinent. 

"(Jood-bye,  Piero,"  she  said,  presently,  setting  down  tho 
basket.     "  I  promise  not  to  thank  you  if  you  finish  the  per 


ROMOLA.  233 

trait  soon  and  well.  I  will  tell  you,  you  were  bound  to  do  it 
tor  your  own  credit." 

"'  Good,"  said  Piero,  curtly,  helping  her  to  fold  her  mantle 
and  veil  round  her  witli  much  deftness. 

"  I'm  glad  she  asked  no  more  questions  about  that  sketch," 
he  thought,  when  he  had  closed  the  door  behind  her.  "  I 
should  be  sorry  for  her  to  guess  that  I  thought  her  fine  hus- 
band a  good  model  for  a  coward.  But  I  made  light  of  it; 
slie'll  not  think  of  it  again." 

Piero  was  too  sanguine,  as  open-hearted  men  are  apt  to  be 
when  they  attempt  a  little  clever  simulation.  The  thought 
of  the  picture  pressed  more  and  more  on  Romola  as  she  walk- 
ed homeward.  She  could  not  help  putting  together  the  two 
facts  of  the  chain  armor  and  the  encounter  mentioned  by  Pie- 
ro, between  her  husband  and  the  prisoner,  which  had  happened 
on  the  morning  of  the  day  when  the  armor  was  adopted.  That 
look  of  terror  which  the  painter  had  given  Tito,  had  he  seen 
it  ?     What  could  it  all  mean  ? 

"  It  means  nothing,"  she  tried  to  assure  herself.  "  It  was 
a  mere  coincidence. "  Shall  I  ask  Tito  about  it  ?"  Her  mind 
said  at  last,  "  No  :  I  will  not  question  him  about  any  thing  he 
did  not  tell  me  spontaneously.  It  is  an  offense  against  the 
trust  I  owe  him."  Her  heart  said,  "  I  dare  not  ask  him." 
There  was  a  terrible  flaw  in  the  trust :  she  was  afraid  of  any 
hasty  movement,  as  men  ai-e  who  hold  something  precious  and 
want  to  believe  that  it  is  not  broken. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

A  MOMENT  OF  TRIUMPH. 

"  The  old  fellow  has  vanished ;  went  on  towards  Arezzo  the 
next  mornins:;  not  liking  the  smell  of  the  French,  I  suppose, 
after  being  their  prisoner.  I  Avent  to  the  hospital  to  inquire 
after  him ;  I  wanted  to  know  if  those  broth-making  monks 
had  found  out  whether  he  Avas  in  his  right  mind  or  not.  How- 
ever,  they  said  he  showed  no  signs  of  madness— only  took  no 
notice  of  questions,  and  seemexi  to  be  planting  a  vine  twenty 
miles  off.  He  was  a  mysterious  old  tiger.  I  should  have 
Hked  to  know  something  more  about  him." 

It  was  in  Xello's  shop  that  Piero  di  Cositno  was  speaking, 
on  the  twentv-fourth  of  November,  just  a  Aveek  after  the  en- 
trance of  the'  French.  There  was  a  party  of  six  or  seven  as- 
sembled at  the  rather  unusual  hour  of  three  in  the  afternoon ; 
for  It  was  a  day  on  which  all  Florence  Avas  excited  by  the 


234  UOMOLA. 

prospect  of  some  decisive  political  event.  Every  lountring. 
l)laoe  was  fiill,aiHl  every  8ho|)-keeper  who  had  no  wife  or  (\v]h 
uty  to  leave  in  charge  stood  at  his  door  witli  his  thumbs  in 
his  belt;  while  the  streets  were  constantly  spriiikli-d  with  ar- 
tisans jiansing  or  i»assing  lazily  likt-  tlouting  splinters,  ready 
to  rush  forward  inipetuously  if  any  object  atti'acted  tlieni, 

Nello  liad  been  thriiiiiining  the  lute  as  lie  half  sat  on  tlie 
board  against  the  shop  window,  and  kept  an  outlook  towards 
the  piazza. 

"Ah,"  he  said,  laying  down  the  lute,  with  emphasis,  "I 
would  not  for  a  gf)ld  Horin  have  missed  that  sight  of  the  I^'rciK-li 
soldiers  wad<lling  in  their  broad  shoes  after  their  runaway 
prisoners  !  That  comes  of  leaving  my  shop  to  shave  magniti- 
cent  chins.  It  is  always  so:  if  ever  I  quit  this  navel  of  the 
earth  something  takes  the  opportunity  of  ha|)pening  in  my 
piazza." 

"  Yes,  you  ought  to  liave  been  there,"  said  Piero,  in  his 
biting  way,  "just  to  see  your  favorite  Greek  look  as  frighten- 
ed as  if  Satanasso  had  laid  hold  of  him.  I  like  to  see  your 
ready  smiling  3fesseri  caught  in  a  sudden  Avind  and  obliged 
to  show  their  lining  in  spite  of  themselves.  What  color  do 
you  think  a  man's  liver  is  who  looks  like  a  bleached  deer  aa 
soon  as  a  chance  stranger  lays  hold  of  him  suddenly  V" 

"Piero,  keep  that  vinegar  of  thine  as  sauce  to  thy  own 
eggs  !  Suffocation  !  What  is  it  against  my  bcl  erud/'fo  that 
lie  looked  startled  when  he  felt  a  ])air  of  claws  upon  him  and 
saw  an  unchained  madman  at  his  elbow  ?  Your  scholar  is 
not  like  those  beastly  Swiss  and  Germans  whose  heads  are 
fit  for  nothing  but  battering-rams,  and  who  have  such  large 
appetites  that  they  think  nothing  of  taking  a  eamion-ball  be- 
fore breakfast.  We  Florentines  count  some  other  (jualities 
in  a  man  besides  that  vulgar  stuff  called  iiravery,  which  is  to 
be  got  by  hiring  dunderheads  at  so  much  per  dozen.  I  tell 
you,  as  soon  as  men  found  out  they  had  more  brains  than  oxen 
they  set  the  oxen  to  draw  for  them  ;  -and  when  Me  Florentines 
found  out  that  we  had  more  brains  than  other  men  we  set 
them  to  fight  for  us." 

"  Treason,  Nello  !"  a  voice  called  out  from  the  inner  sanc- 
tum ;  "  that  is  not  the  <loctrine  of  the  State.  Florence  is 
grinding  its  weapons;  and  the  last  well-authenticated  vision 
announced  by  the  Frate  was  IVIars  standing  on  the  l*alazzo 
Vecchio  with  his  arm  on  the  shoulder  of  San  Giovanni  Battista, 
who  was  offering  him  a  piece  of  honey-comb." 

"  It  is  well,  I'^rancesco,"  sai<l  Nello.  "  Florence  has  a  few 
thicker  skulls  that  may  do  to  bombard  Pisa  with  ;  there  will 
Ctill  be  the  liner  spirits  left  at  home  to  do  the  thinking  and  the 


ROMOLA.  235 

shaving.  And  as  for  our  Piero  here,  if  he  makes  such  a  point 
of  valor,  let  him  carry  his  biggest  brush  for  a  weapon  and  his 
palette  for  a  shield,  and  challenge  the  widest-mouthed  Swiss  he 
can  sec  in  the  Prate  to  a  single  combat." 

"  Va,  Nello,"  growled  Piero,  "  thy  tongue  runs  on  as  usual, 
like  a  mill  when  the  Arno's  full — whether  there's  grist  or  not." 

"  Excellent  grist,  I  tell  thee.  For  it  would  be  as  reasonable 
to  expect  a  grizzled  painter  like  thee  to  be  fond  of  getting  a 
javelin  inside  thee,  as  to  expect  a  man  whose  Avits  have  been 
sharpened  on  the  classics  to  like  having  his  handsome  face 
clawed  by  a  wild  beast." 

"  There  you  go,  supposing  you'll  get  people  to  put  their 
legs  into  a  sack  because  you  call  it  a  pair  of  hosen,"  said  Piero, 
"  Who  said  any  thing  about  a  wild  beast,  or  about  an  unarmed 
man  rushing  on  battle  ?  Fighting  is  a  trade,  and  it's  not  my 
trade.  I  should  be  a  fool  to  run  after  danger,  but  I  could  face 
it  if  it  came  to  me." 

"  How  is  it  you're  so  afraid  of  the  thunder,  then,  my  Piero  ?" 
said  Nello,  determined  to  chase  down  the  accuser.  "You 
ought  to  be  able  to  understand  why  one  man  is  shaken  by  a 
thing  that  seems  a  trifle  to  others — you  who  hide  yourself  with 
the  rats  as  soon  as  a  storm  comes  on." 

"That  is  because  I  have  a  particular  sensibility  to  loud 
sounds  ;  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  my  courage  or  my  con- 
science." 

"  Well,  and  Tito  Melema  may  have  a  peculiar  sensibility  to 
being  laid  hold  of  unexpectedly  by  prisoners  who  have  run 
away  from  French  soldiers.  Men  are  born  with  antipathies  ;  I 
nivself  can't  abide  the  smell  of  mint.  Tito  was  born  with  an  an- 
tipathy  to  old  prisoners  who  stumble  and  clutch.     Ecco  !" 

There  was  a  general  laugh  at  Nello's  defense,  and  it  was 
clear  that  Piero's  disinclination  towards  Tito  was  not  shared 
by  the  company.  The  painter,  with  his  undecipherable  gri- 
mace, took  the  tow  from  his  scarsella  and  stuffed  his  ears,  a? 
a  sign  of  indignant  contempt,  while  Nello  went  on  triumph- 
antly : 

"  No,  my  Piero,  I  can't  afford  to  have  my  bel  erudito  dcr 
cried ;  and  Florence  can't  afford  it  either,  with  her  scholars 
'moulting  off  her  at  the  early  age  of  forty.  Our  Phoenix  Pico 
just  gone  straight  to  Paradise,  as  the  Frate  has  informed  us ; 
and  the  incomparable  Poliziano,  not  two  months  since,  gone 
to —  Well,  well,  let  us  hope  he  is  not  gone  to  the  eminent 
scholars  in  the  JNIalebolge." 

"  By-the-way,"  said  Francesco  Cei,  "  have  you  heard  that 
Camilla  Rucellai  has  outdone  the  Frate  in  her  prophecies  ? 
She  prophesied  two  years  ago  that  Pico  would  die  in  the  time 


230  ROMOLA. 

of  lilies,  lie  has  (lied  in  Novombor.  'Not  nt  all  the  time  oi 
lilies,'  said  the  sconiers.  '(io  t<»  I'  says  Camilla;  'it  is  the 
lilies  of  France  I  meant,  ami  it  seems  4o  me  they  are  close 
cnongh  under  your  nostrils.'  1  say,  '  Euu'e,  (\unilla  !'  Tf  the 
Frate  can  prove  that  any  one  of  his  visions  has  been  as  well  ful- 
filled, ril  declare  myself  a  ^>/^/.7;(0//e  to-morrow." 

"  You  are  something  too  lliiii)ant  about  the  Frate,  Frances- 
co," said  rieto  Cennini,  the  scholarly.  "  We  arc  all  indebted 
to  him  in  these  weeks  for  |trcachin<ji:  peace  and  (juictness,  and 
the  laying  aside  of  party  quarrels.  They  are  men  of  small  dis- 
cernmtMit  who  would  be  glad  to  sec  the  people  slipping  the 
Frate's  leash  just  now.  And  if  the  Most  Christian  King  is 
obstinate  about  the  treaty  to-day,  and  will  not  sign  what  is 
fair  and  honorable  to  Florence,  Fra  Girolamo  is  the  man  we 
must  trust  in  to  bring  him  to  reason." 

"  You  speak  truth,  :\Iesser  Pietro,"  said  Nello,  "  the  Frate 
is  one  of  the  firn^est  nails  Florence  has  to  hang  on — at  least, 
that  is  the  opinion  of  the  most  respectabU'  chins  I  have  the 
honor  of  shaving.  l>ut  young  ]\Iesser  Kiccolo  was  saying 
here  the  other  morning — and,  doubtless,  Francesco  ineans  the 
same  thing — there  is  as  wonderful  a  power  of  stretching  in  the 
meaning  of  visions  as  in  Dido's  bull's  hide.  A  dream  may 
mean  whatever  comes  after,  mi  pare.  As  our  Franco  Sac- 
chetti  says,  a  woman  dreams  over-night  of  a  serpent  biting  her, 
breaks  a*  drinking-cup  the  next  day,  and  cries  out,  '  Look  you, 
I  thought  something  would  haj>pcn — it's  plain  now  what  the 
Bcrpent  meant.' " 

"  But  the  Frate's  visions  are  not  of  that  sort,"  said  Cronaca. 
"  lie  not  only  says  what  will  hapjK-n — that  the  Church  will  be 
scourged  and  renovated,  and  the  heathens  converted — he  says 
it  shall  ha])i)en  quiekly.  I  le  is  no  sli}»pery  pretender  who  pro- 
vides loo])holes  for  himself,  he  is — " 

"What  is  Ihis?  what  is  this?"  exclaimed  Nello,  jumping 
off  the  desco,  and  ])utting  his  head  out  at  the  door.  ''Here  are 
people  streaming  into  the  piazza,  and  shouting.  Something 
must  have  hapi)ened  in  the  Via  Larga.  Aha  !"  he  burs!  forth 
with  delighted  astonishnieiit,  stepjiing  out,  laughing,  and  wav- 
ing his  cap. 

All  the  rest  of  the  company  hastened  to  the  door.  News 
from  the  Via  Larga  was  just  what  they  had  been  waiting  for. 
lint  if  the  news  had  come  into  the  piazza,  they  were  not  a  lit- 
tle surprised  at  the  form  of  its  advent.  Carried  above  the 
shoulders  of  the  jieople,  on  a  bench  apparently  snatched  up  in 
the  street,  sat  Tito  Meleina,  in  smiling  amuscmi'ut  at  the  com- 
pulsion he  was  under.  His  caj)  had  slipped  off  his  head,  and 
Inmg  by  the  becchetto  which  was  wound  loosely   round  his 


EOMOLA.  237 

neck ;  and  as  he  saw  the  group  at  Nello's  door  he  lifted  up 
his  fingers  in  beckoning  recognition.  The  next  minute  ho 
had  leaped  from  the  bench  on  to  a  cart  filled  with  bales  that 
stood  in  the  broad  space  between  the  Baptistery  and  the  steps 
of  the  Duomo,  Avhile  the  people  swarmed  round  him  with  the 
noisy  eagerness  of  poultry  expecting  to  be  fed.  But  there 
was   silence  when  he  began  to  speak  in   his   clear   mellow 

voice — 

"  Citizens  of  Florence  !  I  have  no  Avarrant  to  tell  the  news 
except  your  will.  But  the  news  is  good,  and  will  harm  no 
man  in  the  telling.  The  Most  Christian  King  is  signing  a 
treaty  that  is  honorable  to  Florence.  But  you  owe  it  to  one 
of  your  citizens,  who  spoke  a  word  worthy  of  the  ancient  Ro- 
mans— you  owe  it  to  Piero  Capponi !" 

Immediately  tliere  was  a  roar  of  voices. 

"  Capponi !  Capponi !  What  said  our  Piero  ?"  "  Ah  !  he 
wouldn't  stand  being  sent  from  Herod  to  Pilate  !"  "  We  knew 
Piero  !"     "  Orsii !     Tell  us  what  did  he  say  ?" 

When  the  roar  of  insistence  had  subsided  a  little,  Tito  be- 
gan again : 

"  The  Most  Christian  King  demanded  a  little  too  much- 
was  obstinate — said  at  last,  '  I  shall  order  my  trumpets  to 
sound.'  Then,  Florentine  citizens  !  your  Piero  Capponi,  speak- 
ing with  the  voice  of  a  free  city,  said ;  '  If  you  sound  your 
trumpets,  we  will  ring  our  bells  !'  He  snatched  the  copy  of 
the  dishonoring  conditions  from  the  hands  of  the  secretaiy, 
tore  it  in  pieces,  and  turned  to  leave  the  royal  presence." 

Again  there  were  loud  shouts — and  again  impatient  de- 
mands for  more. 

"Then,  Florentines,  the  high  majesty  of  France  felt,  per- 
haps for  the  first  time,  all  the  majesty  of  a  free  city.  And 
the  Most  Christian  King  himself  hastened  from  his  place  to 
call  Piero  Capponi  back.  The  great  spirit  of  your  Florentine 
city  did  its  work  by  a  great  word,  without  need  of  the  great 
actions  that  lay  ready  behind  it.  And  the  King  has  consent- 
ed to  sign  the  treaty,  which  preserves  the  honor,  as  well  as 
the  safety,  of  Florence.  The  banner  of  France  will  float  over 
every  Florentine  galley  in  sign  of  amity  and  common  privi- 
'lege,  but  above  tliat  banner  will  be  written  the  word  '  Liberty  !' 
"  "  That  is  all  the  ncAvs  I  have  to  tell ;  is  it  not  enough  ? — 
since  it  is  for  the  glory  of  every  one  of  you,  citizens  of  Flor- 
ence, that  you  have  a  fellow-citizen  who  knows  how  to  speak 
your  will." 

As  the  shouts  rose  again,  Tito  looked  round  with  inward 
amusement  at  the  various  crowd,  each  of  whom  was  elated 
with  the  notion  that  Piero  Capponi  had  somehow  represented 


238  HOMOLA. 

him — that  he  was  the  iniiul  of  winch  Capj^orii  was  tlie  mouth- 
piece.  He  enjoyed  the  humor  of  the  iticideiit,  w  hicli  liad  sud- 
d'M\]y  transformed  him,  an  alien  and  a  friend  of  the  ^lediei, 
Into  an  orator  who  tickli-d  the  ears  of  tiie  jtecple  l)lataut  for 
some  unknown  good  wliit-h  they  calletl  liberty.  Jle  felt  quite 
glad  that  lie  had  been  laid  liold  of  ami  hurried  along  by  the 
crowti  as  he  was  coming  out  of  the  ])alace  in  the  Via  Larga 
with  a  commission  to  the  Signoria.  It  was  very  easy,  very 
pleasant,  this  exercise  of  sj)eaking  to  the  general  satisfaction': 
a  man  who  knew  how  to  persuade  need  never  be  in  danger 
from  any  ])arty;  he  could  convince  each  that  he  was  feigning 
with  all  the  others.  The  gestures  and  faces  of  weavers  and 
dyers  were  certainly  amusing  when  looked  at  from  above  in 
this  way.  Tito  was  beginning  to  get  easier  in  his  armor,  and 
at  this  moment  was  quite  unconscious  of  it.  Jle  stood  with 
one  hand  holding  his  recovered  cap,  and  with  the  other  at  his 
belt,  the  light  of  a  complacent  smile  in  his  long  lustrous  eyes, 
as  he  made  a  parting  reverence  to  his  audience,  before  s]>ring- 
ing  down  from  the  bales — when  suddeiilv  his  glance  met  that 
of  a  man  who  had  not  at  all  the  amusing  aspect  of  the  exult- 
ing w'eavers,  dyers,  and  wool-carders.  The  face  of  this  man 
was  clean  shaven.  Ins  hair  close-clip])ed,  and  he  wore  a  decent 
felt  hat.  A  single  glance  would  hardly  have  sutliced  to  assure 
any  one  but  Tito  that  this  was  the  face  of  the  escaped  prison- 
er who  had  laid  hold  of  him  on  the  steps.  Fmt  to  Tito  it 
came  not  sim))ly  as  the  face  of  the  escaped  prisoner,  but  as  a 
face  with  which  he  had  been  familiar  long,  long  years  before. 
It  seemed  all  compressed  into  a  second — the  sight  of  Bal- 
dassarre  looking  at  him,  the  sensation  shooting  through  him 
like  a  liery  ari-ow,  and  the  act  of  leaping  from  the  cart.  He 
would  have  leaped  down  in  the  same  instant,  whetlier  he  ha<l 
seen  Baldassarre  or  not,  for  he  was  in  a  hurry  to  be  gone  to 
the  Palazzo  \'ecchio:  this  time  lu;  had  not  bi'trayed  himself 
by  look  or  movement,  and  ho  said  inwardly  that  he  should 
not  be  taken  by  surprise  again  ;  he  should  be  ])repared  to  seo 
this  face  rise  up  continually  like  the  intermittent  lilotch  that 
comes  in  diseased  vision.  Hut  this  reap])earaiiee  of  Jialilas- 
earre  so  much  more  in  his  own  likeness  tightened  the  pressure 
of  dread :  the  idea  of  his  madness  lost  its  likelihood  now  he 
was  shaven  and  clad  like  a  dec(>nt  though  ])oor  citizen.  Cer- 
tainly, there  was  a  great  change  in  his  face ;  but  how  could  it 
.'•e  otherwise?  And  yet,  if  he  were  perfectly  sane — in  posses- 
P't)?!  of  all  his  jiowers  and  all  his  learning — why  was  lie  lin- 
gering in  this  way  Itefoie  making  known  his  identity?  It 
7i-ust  be  for  the  sake  of  making  his  scheme  of  vengeance  more 
comjilete.     But  he  did  linfjer :  that  at  least  gav3  an  oj)portU' 


KOMOLA.  239 

nity  for  flight.  And  Tito  began  to  think  that  flight  was  his 
only  resource. 

But  while  he,  with  his  back  turned  on  the  Piazza  del  Duomo, 
had  lost  the  recollection  of  the  new  part  he  had  been  playing, 
and  was  no  longer  thinking  of  the  many  things  which  a  ready 
brain  and  tongue  made  easy,  but  of  a  few  things  which  destiny 
had  somehow  made  very  difficult,  the  enthusiasm  which  he  had 
fed  contemptuously  was  creating  a  scene  in  that  piazza  in 
grand  contrast  with  tue  inward  drama  of  self-centred  fear 
which  he  had  carried  away  from  it. 

The  crowd,  on  Tito's  disappearance,  had  begun  to  turn  their 
faces  towards  the  outlets  of  the  piazza  in  the  direction  of  the 
Via  Larga,  when  the  sight  of  Mazzleri,  or  mace-bearers,  enter- 
ing from  the  Via  de'  Martelli,  announced  the  approach  of  dig- 
nitaries. They  must  be  the  syndics,  or  commissioners,  charged 
with  the  effecting  of  the  treaty ;  the  treaty  must  be  already 
signed,  and  they  had  come  away  from  the  royal  presence. 
Piero  Cap])oni  was  coming — the  brave  heart  that  had  known 
how  to  speak  for  Florence.  The  effect  on  the  crowd  Avas  re- 
markable ;  they  parted  with  softening,  dropping  voices,  sub- 
siding into  silence — and  the  silence  became  so  perfect  that  the 
tread  of  the  syndics  on  the  broad  pavement,  and  the  rustle  of 
their  black  silk  garments,  could  be  heard,  like  rain  in  the  night. 
There  were  four  of  them  ;  but  it  was  not  the  two  learned 
doctors  of  law,  Messer  Guidantonio  Vespucci  and  Messer 
Domenico  Bonsi,  that  the  crowd  Avaited  for ;  it  was  not 
Francesco  Valori,  popular  as  he  had  become  in  these  late 
days.  The  moment  belonged  to  another  man,  of  firm  presence, 
as  little  inclined  to  humor  the  people  as  to  humor  any  other 
unreasonable  claimants — loving  order,  like  one  who  by  force 
of  fortune  had  been  made  a  mercliant,  and  by  foi-ce  of  nature 
had  become  a  soldier.  It  was  not  till  he  was  seen  at  the  en- 
trance of  the  piazza  that  the  silence  was  broken,  and  then  one 
loud  shout  of  "  Capponi,  Capponi  !  Well  done,  Capponi !" 
rang  through  the  piazza. 

The  simple,  resolute  man  looked  round  him  with  grave  joy 
His  fellow-citizens  gave  him  a  great  funeral  two  years  later, 
when  he  had  died  in  fight :  there  were  torches  carried  by  all 
the  magisti'acy,  and  torches  again,  and  trains  of  banners.  Bui 
it  is  not  known  that  he  felt  any  joy  in  the  oration  that  was  dc 
livered  in  his  praise,  as  the  banners  waved  over  his  bier.  Le^ 
U8  be  glad  that  he  got  some  thanks  and  pra^'se  while  he  lived. 


240  ItOMOLA. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE    AVENGEU'S  SECRET. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  Bahlassarre  had  been  in  the  piazza 
del  Duoino  since  his  escape.  He  had  a  strong  desire  to  liear 
the  ri'niarkabh.'  monk  jireach  again,  but  he  liad  shrunk  from 
reappearing  in  tlie  same  spot  wiiere  he  had  been  seen  half 
naked,  with  neglected  hair,  with  a  rope  round  his  neck — in  the 
same  s|>ot  where  he  had  been  called  a  madman.  The  feeling, 
in  its  freshness,  was  too  strong  to  be  overcome  by  any  trust 
he  had  in  tlie  change  he  had  made  in  his  appearance  ;  for 
when  the  worils  "  some  madman,  surely,"  had  fallen  from 
Tito's  lips,  it  was  not  their  baseness  and  cruelty  only  that  had 
made  their  viper-sting — it  was  Jialdassarre's  instantaneous 
bitter  consciousness  that  he  might  be  unable  to  prove  tho 
Avords  false.  Along  with  the  j)assionate  desire  for  vengeance 
that  possessed  him,  had  arisen  the  keen  sense  that  his  power 
of  achievinir  the  veni;eance  was  doubtful.  It  was  as  if  Tito 
liad  been  helped  by  some  diabolical  prompter,  who  had  whis- 
pered ])aldassarre\s  saddest  secret  in  the  traitor's  ear.  He 
was  not  mad;  for  he  carried  within  him  that  ))iteous  stamp  of 
sanity — the  clear  consciousness  of  shattered  faculties:  he 
measured  his  own  feebleness.  With  the  first  movements  of 
vin<lictive  rage  awoke  a  vague  caution,  like  that  of  a  wild 
l)east  tliat  is  fierce  but  feel>le — or  like  that  of  an  insect  whose 
little  fragment  of  earth  has  given  way,  and  made  it  pause  in 
a  palsy  of  distrust.  It  was  this  distrust,  this  di'termination  to 
take  no  step  which  miglit  betray  any  thing  concei  iiiug  himself, 
that  had  made  JJaldassarre  reject  I'iero  di  Cosimo's  frien<lly 
advances. 

He  had  been  erpinlly  cautious  at  the  hos])ital,  only  telling, 
in  answer  to  the  (piestions  of  the  brethren  there,  tliat  he  had 
been  made  a  ]>risoner  by  the  French  on  his  way  from  Genoa. 
Tint  his  age,  and  the  indications  in  his  speech  and  manner  that 
Ihe  was  of  a  diffen-nt  class  from  the  ordinary  meiulicants  and 
j)Oor  travellers  who  were  entertained  in  the  hospital,  had  in- 
duced the  monks  to  offer  him  extra  charity — a  coarse  woollen 
tunic  to  ))r()tect  him  from  the  cold,  a  pair  of  peasant's  shoes, 
and  a  few  (A///'//-/,  smallest  f)f  Florentine  coins,  to  help  him  on 
his  way.  He  had  gone  on  the  road  to  Arezzo  early  in  the 
morning;  but  he  had  paused  at  the  first  little  town,  and  had 
used  a  couple  of  his  da/iari  to  get  himself  shaved  and  to  haTO 


BOMOLA.  241 

his  circle  of  hair  clipped  short,  in  his  former  fashion.  The 
barber  there  had  a  little  haud-mirror  of  bright  steel :  it  was  a 
long  while,  it  was  years,  since  Baldassarre  had  looked  at  him- 
self ;  and  now,  as  his  eyes  fell  on  that  hand-mirror,  a  new 
thouofht  shot  through  his  mind.  "  Was  he  so  changed  that 
Tito  really  did  not  know  him  ?"  The  thought  was  such  2 
sudden  arrest  of  impetuous  currents  that  it  was  a  painful 
shock  to  him :  his  hand  shook  like  a  leaf  as  he  put  away  the 
barber's  arm  and  asked  for  the  mirror.  He  wished  to  see 
himself  before  he  was  shaved.  The  barber,  noticing  his  trem- 
ulousness,held  the  mirror  for  him.  \ 

No  ;  he  was  not  so  changed  as  that.  He  himself  had  known 
the  wrinkles  as  they  had  been  three  years  ago  ;  they  were 
only  deeper  now  :  there  was  the  same  rough,  clumsy  skin,  mak- 
ing little  superficial  bosses  on  the  brow,  like  so  many  cipher 
marks;  the  skin  was  only  yellower,  only  looked  more  like  a 
lifeless  rind.  That  shaggy  white  beard — it  was  no  disguise 
to  eyes  that  had  looked  closely  at  him  for  sixteen  years — to 
eyes  that  ought  to  have  searched  for  him  with  the  expectation 
of  finding  him  changed,  as  men  search  for  the  beloved  among 
the  bodies  cast  up  by  the  waters.  There  was  something  differ- 
ent in  his  glance,  but  it  was  a  difference  that  should  only  have 
made  the  recognition  of  him  the  more  startling ;  for  is  not  a 
known  voice  all  the  more  thrilling  when  it  is  heard  as  a  cry  ? 
But  the  doubt  was  folly:  he  had  felt  that  Tito  knew  him. 
He  put  out  his  hand  and  pushed  the  mirror  away.  The  strong 
currents  w  ere  rushing  on  again,  and  the  energies  of  hatred 
and  vengeun(;e  were  active  once  more. 

He  went  back  on  the  way  towards  Florence  again,  but  he 
did  not  vish  to  enter  the  city  till  dusk ;  so  he  turned  aside 
from  the  high-road,  and  sat  down  by  a  little  pool  shadowed  on 
one  side  by  alder-bushes  still  sprinkled  with  yellow  leaves.  It 
was  a  calm  November  day,  and  he  no  sooner  saw  the  pool  than 
he  thought  its  still  surface  might  be  a  mirror  for  him.  He 
wanted  to  contemplate  himself  slowly,  as  he  had  not  dared  to 
do  in  the  presence  of  the  barber.  lie  sat  down  on  the  edge 
of  the  pool,  and  bent  forward  to  look  earnestly  at  the  image 
of  himself. 

Was  there  something  wandering  and  imbecile  in  his  face — 
something  like  what  he  felt  in  his  mind  ? 

Not  now ;  not  when  he  was  examining  himself  with  a  look 
of  eager  inquiry :  on  the  contrary,  there  was  an  intense  pur- 
pose in  his  eyes.  But  at  other  times  ?  Yes,  it  must  be  so  : 
in  the  long  hours  when  he  had  the  vague  achinir  of  an  unre- 
membered  past  within  him — when  he  seemed  to  sit  in  dark 
loneliness,  visited  by  whispers  which  died  out  mockingly  as  h© 

n 


242  UOMOL.V, 

strainod  liis  oar  nftor  them,  ami  by  forms  that  sccmcil  to  njv 
])rc)acli  him  and  Hoat  away  as  lie  llirust  out  his  haiul  to  grasp 
tliem — in  those  hours,  doubtless,  there  must  be  coiitinual  frus- 
tration and  amazement  in  his  glance.  ^Vnd,  more  horrible 
.still,  when  the  thiek  cloud  parted  for  a  moment,  and,  as  he 
sprang  forward  with  liope,  rolled  together  again  and  left  him 
helpless  as  before,  doubtless  then  there  was  a  blank  con- 
fusion in  Ins  face,  as  of  a  man  suddenly  smitten  with  blind- 
ness. 

Could  he  prove  any  thing?  Could  lie  even  begin  to  allege 
any  thing  with  the  confidence  that  the  links  of  thought  would 
not  break  away?  Would  any  believe  that  he  had  ever  had  a 
mind  filled  witli  rare  knowledge,  bu.sy  with  close  thoughts, 
ready  with  various  speech?  It  had  all  sli})ped  away  from  him 
'—that  lab(»ri(Misly-gathere<l  store.  Was  it  utterly  and  forever 
gone  from  him,  like  tlic  waters  from  an  urn  lost  in  the  wide 
ocean?  Or  was  it  still  within  him,  imprisoned  by  some  ob- 
struction that  might  one  day  l)reak  asunder? 

It  might  be  so  ;  he  tried  to  keep  his  grasp  on  that  hope. 
For  since  the  day  when  he  had  first  walke<l  feebly  from  his 
couch  of  straw  and  had  felt  a  new  darkness  within  him  under 
the  sun-light,  his  mind  liad  undergone  changes,  partly  gradual 
and  persistent,  partly  sudden  and  fieeting.  As  he  had  recov- 
ered his  strength  of  body  he  had  recovered  his  self-command 
and  the  energy  of  his  will ;  he  had  recovered  the  memory  of 
all  that  part  of  his  life  which  was  closely  inwrought  with  his 
emotions;  and  he  liad  felt  more  and  more  constantly  and  })ain- 
f  ully  the  uneasy  sense  of  lost  knowledge.  I^ut  more  than  that 
— once  or  twice,  when  he  had  l)een  strongly  excited,  he  had 
seemed  momentarily  to  be  in  entire  ])Ossession  of  his  ])ast  self, 
as  old  men  doze  for'an  instant  and  get  back  the  consciousness 
of  their  youth:  he  seemed  again  to  see  (ireek  i)ages  and  un<ler- 
stand  them,  again  to  feel  his  mind  moving  unbcnumbe.l  among 
familiar  ideas.  It  had  been  but  a  fiasli,  and  tlie  darkness  dos- 
ing in  again  seemed  the  more  horrible;  but  might  not  the 
same  thing  happen  again  for  longer  periods  ?  If  it  would  only 
come  and  stay  long  enough  for  him  to  achieve  a  revenge — de- 
vise an  exquisite  suffering,  such  as  a  mere  right  arm  could 
never  infiict I 

lie  raised  himself  from  his  stooping  attitude,  and  folding 
liis  arms,  attempted  to  concentrate  all  his  mental  force  on 
the  ])lan  lie  must  immediately  ])ursue.  He  had  to  wait  for 
knowledge  and  opportunity,  and  while  he  waited  he  must  have 
the  means  of  living  without  beggary.  What  he  dreadtd  of 
all  things  now  was,  that  any  one  should  think  him  a  foolish, 
helpless  old  man.     No  one  must  know  that  half  his  memo?-y 


icOiiOLA.  24j 

was  gone :  the  lost  strength  might  come  again  :  and  if  it  wera 
only  for  a  little  while,  that  might  be  enough. 

He  knew  how  to  begin  to  get  the  information  he  wanted 
about  Tito.  lie  had  repeated  the  words  Bratti  Ferravecclij 
so  constantly  after  thev  had  been  uttered  to  him  that  tliev 
never  slijiped  from  him  for  long  together.  A  man  at  Genoa, 
on  whose  finger  he  liad  seen  Tito's  ring,  had  told  him  that  he 
bought  that  ring  at  Florence,  of  a  young  Greek,  well  dressed, 
and  with  a  handsome  dark  face,  in  the  shop  of  a  rigattiere 
called  Bratti  Ferravecchj,  in  the  street  also  called  Ferravecchj. 
This  discovery  had  caused  a  violent  agitation  in  Baldassarre. 
Until  then  he  had  clung  with  all  the  tenacity  of  his  fervid  nature 
to  his  faith  in  Tito,  and  had  not  for  a  moment  believed  himself  to 
be  willfully  forsaken.  At  first  he  had  said, "  My  bit  of  pai'chment 
has  never  reached  him  :  that  is  why  I  am  still  toiling  at  Antioch. 
But  he  is  searching :  lie  knows  where  I  was  lost ;  he  will  trace  me 
out,  and  find  me  at  last."  Then,  when  he  was  taken  to  Corinth,  he 
induced  his  owners,  by  the  assurance  that  he  should  be  sought 
out  and  ransomed,  to  provide  securely  against  the  failure  of 
any  inquiries  that  might  be  made  about  him  at  Antioch  ;  and 
at  Corinth  he  thought  joyfully,  "  Here,  at  last,  he  must  find 
me.  Here  he  is  sure  to  touch  Avhichever  way  he  goes."  But 
before  another  year  had  passed  the  illness  had  come  from 
■which  he  had  risen  with  body  and  mind  so  shattered  that  he 
was  worse  than  worthless  to  his  owners  except  for  the  sake  of 
the  ransom  that  did  not  come.  Then,  as  he  sat  helpless  in  the 
morning  sunlight,  he  began  to  think,  "  Tito  has  been  drowned, 
or  they  have  made  hini  a  prisoner  too.  I  shall  see  him  no 
more.  He  set  out  after  me,  but  misfortune  overtook  him.  I 
shall  see  his  face  no  more."  Sitting  in  liis  new  feebleness  and 
despair,  supporting  his  head  between  his  hands,  with  blank 
eyes  and  lips  that  moved  uncertainly,  he  looked  so  much  like 
a  liope.less  imbecile  old  man,  that  his  owners  were  contented 
to  be  rid  of  him,  and  allowed  a  Genoese  merchant,  who  had 
compassioa  on  him  as  an  Italian,  to  take  him  on  board  his 
galley.  In  a  voyage  of  many  months  in  the  Archipelago  and 
along  the  seaboard  of  Asia  Minor,  Baldassarre  had  recovered 
his  bodily  strength,  but  on  landing  at  Genoa  he  had  so  weary 
a  sense  of  his  desolateness  that  he  almost  wished  he  had  died 
of  that  illness  at  Corinth.  There  was  just  one  possibility  that 
hindered  the  Avish  from  being  decided  :  it  was  that  Tito  mis^ht 
not  be  dead,  but  living  in  a  state  of  imprisonment  or  destitu- 
tion;  and  if  he  lived,  there  was  still  a  hope  for  Baldassarre — 
faint,  perhaps,  and  likely  to  be  long  deferred,  but  stiU  a  liope, 
that  he  might  find  his  child,  his  cherished  son  again;  might 
yet  again, clasp  hands  and  meet  face  to  face  with  the  one  be- 


244  ROM  OLA. 


iiiij  wlio  rcmcmborctl  him  as  lie  had  been  before  his  mind  was 
broken. 

In  this  state  of  foelinti  lie  had  chatioed  to  meet  the  straiiLror 
■who  -svore  Tito's  onyx  riuLj,  and  tliough  JiaMa.s.sarrc  would 
have  l)een  unable  to  describe  the  ring  beforehand,  tlie  siglit  of 
it  stirred  the  dormant  fibres,  and  he  recognizeil  it.  That  I'ito 
nearly  a  year  afti'r  his  father  had  been  parted  from  liim  should 
have"l)een  living  in  ai)parent  prosperity  at  Florence,  selling  the 
gem  wliich  lie  ought  not  to  have  sold  till  the  last  extremity, 
was  a  fact  that  Baldassarre  shiank  from  trying  to  account  for; 
l;e  was  glad  to  be  stunned  and  bewildered  by  it  rather  than 
to  have  any  distinct  thought ;  he  tried  to  feel  nothing  but  joy 
that  he  should  behold  Tito  again.  Perhaps  Tito  had  thought 
that  his  father  was  dead  ;  somehow  the  mystery  would  be  ex- 
plained. "Ibit  at  least  I  shall  meet  eyes  that  will  remember 
me  ;  I  am  not  alone  in  the  world." 

And  now  again  Baldassarre  said,  "  I  am  not  alone  in  the 
world  ;  1  shall  never  be  alone,  for  my  revenge  is  with  me.'" 

It  was  as  the  instrument  of  that  revenge,  as  something 
merely  external  and  subservient  to  his  true  life,  that  he  bent 
down  again  to  examine  himself  with  hard  curiosity — not,  he 
thought,  because  he  had  any  care  for  a  withered,  forsaken  old 
man,"whom  nobody  loved,  whose  soul  was  like  a  deserted  home, 
Avhere  the  ashes  were  cold  upon  the  hearth,  and  the  walls  w^re 
bare  of  all  but  the  marks  of  what  had  been.  It  is  in  the  na- 
ture of  all  human  passion,  the  lowest  as  well  as  the  highest, 
that  there  is  a  point  at  which  it  ceases  to  be  properly  egoistic, 
and  is  like  a  tire  kindled  within  our  being  to  which  every 
thing  else  in  us  is  mere  fuel. 

lie  looked  at  the  pale,  black-browed  image  in  the  water  till 
he  i<lentilied  it  with  that  self  from  which  liis  revenge  seenunl 
to  be  a  thing  apart ;  and  he  felt  as  if  the  image  too  heard  the 
silent  language  of  his  thought. 

"  I  was  a  loving  fool — I  worshipi)ed  a  woman  once,  and  be- 
lieved she  could  care  for  me;  and  then  I  took  a  helpless  child 
and  fostered  him  ;  and  I  watched  him  as  he  grew,  to  see  if  he 
would  care  for  me  only  a  little — care  for  me  over  and  above 
the  good  he  got  from  me.  I  would  have  torn  open  my  breast 
to  warm  him" with  my  life-blood  if  1  could  only  have  seen  him 
care  a  little  for  the  pain  of  my  wound.  I  have  labored,  I  have 
strained  to  erush  out  of  this  hard  life  one  drop  of  unsi'lfish 
love.  Fool  I  men  love  their  own  delights — there  is  no  delight 
to  be  had  in  me.  And  yet  I  watclied  till  I  believed  I  saw 
what  I  walcthed  for.  When  he  was  a  child  he  lifted  soft  eyes 
towards  nu'  and  held  my  hand  willingly:  I  thought,  this  boy 
will  surely  love  n\e  a  little  :  becau,se  I  give  my  life  tojiim  aud 


ROMOI.A.  243 

Btrive  lliat  he  shall  know  no  sorrow,  he  will  care  a  little  when 
I  am  thirsty — the  drop  he  lays  on  my  parched  lips  will  be  a 

joy  to  him Curses  on  liim  !     I  wish  I  may  see  him  lie 

with  those  red  lips  white  and  dry  as  ashes,  and  when  he  looks 
for  pity  I  wish  he  may  see  my  face  rejoicing  in  his  pain.  It 
is  all  a  lie — this  world  is  a  lie — there  is  no  goodness  but  in 
hate.  Fool !  Xot  one  drop  of  love  came  with  all  your  striv- 
ing— life  has  not  given  you  one  drop.  But  there  are  deep 
draughts  in  this  world  for  hatred  and  revenge.  I  have  mem- 
cry  left  for  that,  and  there  is  strength  in  my  ai-m  —  there  is 
strength  in  my  will — and  if  I  can  do  nothing  but  kill  him — " 

But  Baldassarre's  mind  rejected  the  thought  of  that  brief 
punishment.  His  whole  soul  had  been  thrilled  into  imraedi- 
ate  unreasoning  belief  in  that  eternity  of  vengeance  where  he, 
an  undying  hate,  might  clutch  forever  an  undying  traitor,  and 
hear  that  fair  smiUng  hardness  cry  and  moan  with  anguish. 
But  the  primary  need  and  hope  was  to  see  a  slow  revenge 
under  the  same  sky  and  on  the  same  earth  Avhere  he  himself 
had  been  forsaken  and  had  fainted  Avith  despair.  And  as  soon 
as  he  tried  to  concentrate  his  mind  on  the  means  of  attaining 
his  end  the  sense  of  his  weakness  pressed  upon  him  like  a 
frosty  ache.  This  despised  body,  Avhich  Avas  to  be  the  instru- 
ment of  a  sublime  vengeance,  must  be  nourished  and  decently 
clad.  If  he  had  to  wait  he  must  labor,  and  his  labor  must  be 
of  a  humble  sort,  for  he  had  no  skill.  He  wondered  Avhetlier 
the  sight  of  written  characters  Avould  so  stimulate  his  faculties 
that  he  might  venture  to  try  and  find  Avork  as  a  copyist :  that 
might  Avin  him  some  credence  for  his  past  scholarship.  But 
no  !  he  dared  trust  neither  hand  nor  brain.  He  naust  be  con- 
tent to  do  the  Avork  that  was  most  like  that  of  a  beast  of  bur- 
den :  in  this  mercantile  city  many  porters  must  be  Avanted, 
and  he  could  at  least  carry  Aveights.  Thanks  to  the  justice 
that  struggled  in  this  confused  Avorld  in  behalf  of  vengeance, 
his  limbs  had  got  back  some  of  their  old  sturdiness.  He  Avas 
stripped  of  all  else  that  men  Avould  give  coin  for. 

But  the  neAV  urgency  of  this  habitual  thought  brought  a 
ncAV  suggestion.  There  was  something  hanging  by  a  cord 
round  his  bare  neck ;  something  apparently  so  paltry  that  the 
piety  of  Turks  and  Frenchmen  had  spared  it — a  tiny  paich- 
nient  bag  blackened  Avith  age.  It  had  hung  round  his  neck 
as  a  precious  charm  when  he  Avas  a  boy,  and  he  had  kept  it  care- 
fully on  his  breast,  not  believing  that  it  contained  any  thing 
but  a  tiny  scroll  of  parchment  rolled  up  hard.  He  mitrht  long 
ago  have  thrown  it  away  as  a  relic  of  his  dead  mother's  su- 
perstition ;  but  he  had  thought  of  it  as  a  relic  of  her  love,  and 
bad  kept  it.     It  was  part  of  the  piety  associated  Avith   such 


24G  ROMOLA. 

(trcri,  tliat  tlicy  slioiiM  novor  1)e  oponc<l,  nnd  at  fiiiv  provicua 
iiioiucnt  ill  hi.s  life  iJaklas.sarre  would  liavc  said  lli'at  no  sort 
of  thirst  would  prevail  uj)Oii  him  to  open  this  little  bag  for 
the  chance  of  finding  that  it  contained,  not  parchment,  but  an 
engraved  amulet  which  would  be  worth  money.  ]>ut  now  a 
thirst  had  come  like  that  which  makes  men  open  their  own 
veins  to  satisfy  it,  and  the  thought  of  tlie  possible  amulet  no 
sooner  crosse<l  Baldassarre's  mind  than  with  nervous  lingers 
he  snatched  the  brece  from  his  neck.  It  all  rushed  thnjijgh 
liis  mind — the  long  years  lie  had  worn  it,  the  far-off  sunny 
balcony  at  Naples  looking  towards  the  blue  waters,  where  he 
liad  leaned  against  his  mother's  knee  ;  but  it  made  no  moment 
of  hesitation  :  all  piety  now  was  ti-ansmuted  into  a  just  re- 
venge, lie  bit  and  tore  till  the  doubles  of  ])arcliment  were 
laid  open,  ai'd  then — it  was  a  sight  that  made  liimi»ant — there 
was  an  amulet.  It  was  very  small,  but  it  was  as  blue  as  th->so 
far-off  waters;  it  was  an  engraved  sapi)hire,  which  must  be 
Avorth  some  gold  ducats.  Ualdassarre  no  sooner  saw  those 
possible  ducats  than  he  saw  some  of  them  exchanged  for  a 
poniard,  lie  did  not  want  to  use  the  poniard  yet,  but  he  long- 
ed to  possess  it.  If  he  could  grasp  its  handle  and  feel  its  edge, 
that  blank  in  his  mind— that  past  which  fell  away  continually 
— would  not  make  him  feel  so  cruelly  helpless  :  tlie  sharp  steel 
that  desi)ised  talents  and  ehuled  strength  would  be  at  his  side, 
as  the  unfailing  friend  of  feeble  jlistice.  There  was  a  spark- 
ling triumj)h  under  Daldassarre's  black  eyel)rows  as  he  re- 
placed the  little  sapphire  inside  the  bits  oi  i)arcliment  and 
wound  the  string  tightly  round  them. 

It  was  nearly  (bisk  now,  and  lie  rose  to  walk  back  towards 
Florence.  With  his  (Jtntarl  to  buy  him  some  bread,  he  felt 
rich  :  he  could  lie  out  in  the  open  air,  as  he  found  plenty  more 
doing  in  all  corners  of  Florence.  And  in  the  next  iv'w  days 
he  had  sold  his  sa)»i)hire,  had  added  to  liis  clothing,  had  bought 
a  bright  dagger,  and  had  still  a  pair  of  gold  llorins  left,  jlut 
he  meant  to  hoard  that  treasure  carefully :  his  lodging  w.\j  an 
out-house  with  a  heap  of  straw  in  it,  in  a  thinly  inhabited  part 
of  Oltrarno,  and  he  thought  of  looking  about  for  Avork  as  a 
porter. 

lie  had  Imught  his  dagger  at  Bratti's.  Paying  Iiis  medi- 
tated visit,  thci-e  one  evening  at  dusk,  he  had  found  that  singu- 
lar rag-merchant  just  returned  from  one  of  his  rounds,  emi»ty- 
ing  out  his  basketful  of  broken  glass  and  old  iron  among  his 
•handsoni'^  show  of  heterogeneous  second-hand  goods.  As  Kal- 
dassarre  entiMcd  the  shop,  and  looketl  towards  the  smart  jiieces 
of  a|)par"l,  the  musical  instiuinents,  and  weapons  that  were  iVxSf 
played  :;i  the  broadest  light  of  the  window,  bis  eye  at  one* 


ROM  OLA.  247 

singled  out  a  dagger  that  hung  up  high  against  a  red  scarf. 
By  buying  that  dagger  lie  could  not  only  satisfy  a  strong  de- 
sire, he  could  open  his  original  errand  in  a  more  indirect  man- 
ner than  bv  speaking  of  the  onyx  ring.  In  the  course  of  bar- 
gaining  for  the  weapon,  he  let  drop,  with  cautious  carelessness, 
tliat  he  came  from  Genoa,  and  had  been  directed  to  Bratti's 
shop  by  an  acquaintance  in  that  city  who  had  bought  a  very 
valuable  ring  there.  Had  the  respectable  trader  any  more 
such  rings? 

Whei-eupon  Bratti  had  much  to  say  as  to  the  unlikelihood 
of  such  ring-s  being  within  reach  of  many  people,  with  much 
vaunting  of  liis  own  rare  connections,  due  to  his  known  wis- 
ciom  and  honesty.  It  might  be  true  that  he  was  a  peddler ;  he 
chose  to  be  a  peddler,  though  he  Avas  rich  enough  to  kick  his 
heels  in  his  shop  all  day.  But  those  who  thought  they  had 
said  all  there  was  to  be  ^aid  about  Bratti  when  they  had  call- 
ed him  a  peddler  were  a  good  deal  farther  off  the  truth  than 
the  other  side  of  Pisa.  How  was  it  that  he  could  put  that 
ring  in  a  stranger's  way  ?  It  was  because  he  had  a  very  par- 
ticular knowledge  of  a  handsome  young  signor,  who  did  not 
look  quite  so  fine  a  feathered  bird  when  Bratti  first  set  eyes 
on  liim  as  he  did  at  the  present  time.  And  by  a  question  or 
two  Baldassarre  extracted  without  any  trouble  such  a  rough 
and  rambling  account  of  Tito's  life  as  the  peddler  could  give 
since  the  time  when  he  had  found  him  sleeping  under  the  Log- 
gia de'  Cerchi.  It  never  occurred  to  Bratti  that  the  decent 
man  (who  was  rather  deaf  apparently,  asking  him  to  say  many- 
things  twice  over)  had  any  curiosity  about  Tito ;  the  curi- 
osity was  doubtless  about  himself,  as  a  truly  remarkable  ped- 
dler. 

And  Baldassarre  left  Bratti's  shop,  not  only  with  the  dag- 
ger at  his  side,  but  with  a  general  knowledge  of  Tito's  con- 
duct and  position — of  his  early  snle  of  the  jewels,  his  imme- 
diate quiet  settlement  of  himself  at  Florence,  his  marriage, 
and  his  great  prosperity. 

"  What  story  had  he  told  about  his  previous  life — about 
his  father?" 

That  was  a  question  to  which  it  would  be  difficult  for  Bal- 
dassarre to  discover  the  answer.  Meanwhile  he  wanted  to  learn 
all  he  couUi  about  Florence.  But  he  found,  to  his  acute  dis- 
tress, that  of  the  new  details  he  learned  he  could  only  retain  a 
few,  and  those  only  by  continual  repetition ;  and  he  began  to 
be  afraid  of  listening  to  any  new  discourse  lest  it  should  oblit- 
erate wliat  he  was  already  striving  to  remember. 

The  day  he  was  discerned  by  Tito  in  the  Piazza  del  Duo- 
mo  he  had  the  fresh  Qn^uish  of  this  consciousness  in  his  mind. 


248  i:o.Mt)LA. 

imd  Tito's  ready  sj)Cocli  fell  ui»oii  him  like  tlie  mockery  of  a 
glib,  defying  demon. 

As  he  went  liome  to  liis  heap  of  straw,  and  passed  by  the 
booksellers'  shops  in  the  Via  del  Oarbo,  he  jiaused  to  look  at 
the  vohimes  spread  o|)e!i.  Could  he  by  long  gazing  at  one  of 
those  books  lay  liold  of  the  slippery  threads  of  memory? 
Could  he  by  striving  get  a  iivm  grasp  somewhere,  and  lift 
himself  above  these  waters  that  flowed  over  him? 

lie  was  tempted,  and  bought  the  cheapest  (Jreck  book  he 
could  see.  lie  carried  it  home  and  sat  on  his  licap  of  straw, 
looking  at  the  characters  by  the  liglit  of  the  small  win(b)W  ; 
but  no  inward  liijcht  arose  on  them.  Soon  the  evening  dark- 
ness  came,  but  it  made  little  difference  to  ]>aldassarrc.  His 
strained  eyes  seemed  still  to  sec  the  white  pages  with  the  uu- 
iutelligible  black  marks  upon  them. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

FRUIT    IS    SEED. 

"  My  Romola,"  said  Tito  the  second  morning  after  he  had 
made  liis  speech  in  the  Piazza  del  Duomo,  "  I  am  to  receive 
grand  visitors  to-day  ;  the  ]\Iilanese  Count  is  coming  again, 
and  tlie  Seneschal  de  IJeaucaire,  the  great  favorite  of  the  Cris- 
tianissimo.  I  know  you  don't  care  to  go  through  smiling  cere- 
monies  with  these  rustling  magnates,  Avhom  we  are  not  likely 
to  sec  again  ;  and  as  they  will  want  to  look  at  the  anti<iuities 
and  the  library,  perhaps  you  had  better  give  up  your  work  to- 
day and  go  to  see  your  cousin  Hrigida." 

l{omol;i  discerned  a  wish  in  this  intimation,  and  immediately 
assented.  J>ut  presently,  coming  back  in  her  liood  and  mantle, 
she  said,  "  Oh,  what  a  long  breath  Florence  will  take  wlien  the 
gates  are  flung  open  and  the  last  Frenchman  is  walking  out 
of  them!  Even  you  are  getting  tired,  with  all  your  patience, 
my  Tito;  confess  it.     Ah,  your  hea<l  is  liot." 

He  was  leaning  over  his  desk,  writintr,  and  she  had  laid  her 

•  nil  • 

Iiand  on  liis  head,  meaning  to  give  a  partitig  caress.  I  he  atti- 
tude had  been  a  fre([uent  one,  and  Tito  was  accustomed,  when  he 
felt  lier  liand  there,  to  raise  his  head,  throw  himself  a  little 
backward,  and  look  up  at  lier.  l>ut  he  felt  now  as  unable  to 
raise  his  head  as  if  her  hand  had  been  a  leaden  cowl.  Ho 
spoke  instead,  in  a  light  tone,  as  his  pen  still  ran  along: 

"  The  French  are  as  ready  to  go  from  Florence  as  the  wasps 
to  leave  a  ripe  pear  when  they  have  just  fastened  on  it." 


EOMOLA.  249 

Romola,  keenly  sensitive  to  the  absence  of  the  usual  re< 
spouse,  took  away  hey  hand  and  said,  "  I  am  going,  Tito." 

"  Farewell,  my  sweet  one.  I  must  Avait  at  home.  Take 
INIaso  with  you." 

Still  Tito  did  not  look  up,  and  Romola  went  out  Avithout 
sayino-  any  more.  Very  slight  things  make  epochs  in  married 
life,  and  this  morning,  for  the  first  time,  she  admitted  to  her- 
self  not  only  that  Tito  had  changed,  but  that  he  had  changed 
towards  her.  Did  the  reason  lie  in  herself  ?  She  might  per- 
haps have  thought  so  if  there  had  not  been  the  facts  of  the  ar- 
mor and  the  picture  to  suggest  some  external  event  which  was 
an  entire  mystery  to  her. 

But  Tito  no  "sooner  believed  that  Romola  was  out  of  the 
house  than  he  laid  down  his  pen  and  looked  up,  in  delightful 
security  from  seeing  any  thing  else  than  parchment  and  broken 
marble.  He  was  rather  disrjusted  with  himself  that  he  had  not 
been  able  to  look  up  at  Romola  and  behave  to  her  just  as  usual. 
He  Avould  have  chosen,  if  he  could,  to  be  even  more  than  usu- 
ally kind  ;  but  he  could  not,  on  a  sudden,  master  an  involun- 
tary shrinking  from  her,  Avhich,  by  a  subtle  relation,  depended 
on  those  very  characteristics  in  him  that  made  him  desire  not 
to  fail  in  his  marks  of  affection.  He  was  about  to  take  a  step 
which  he  knew  would  arouse  her  deep  indignation.  He  would 
have  to  encounter  much  that  was  unpleasant  before  he  could 
win  her  foro-iveness.  And  Tito  could  never  find  it  easy  to  face 
displeasure  and  anger ;  his  natui'e  was  one  of  those  most  re- 
mote from  defiance  or  impudence,  and  all  his  inclinations  lean^ 
ed  towards  preserving  Romola's  tenderness.  He  was  not  tor- 
mented by  sentimental  scruples  which,  as  he  had  demonstrated 
to  himself  by  a  very  rapid  course  of  argument,  had  no  relation 
to  solid  utility  ;  but  his  freedom  from  scruples  did  not  release 
him  from  the  dread  of  Avhat  was  disagreeble.  Unscrupulous- 
ness  gets  rid  of  much,  but  not  of  toothache,  or  wounded  vanity, 
or  the  sense  of  loneliness,  against  which,  as  the  world  at  pres- 
ent stands,  there  is  no  security  but  a  thoroughly  healthy  jaw, 
and  a  just,  loving  soul.  And  Tito  Avas  feeling  intensely  at  this 
moment  that  no  devices  could  save  him  from  pain  in  the  im- 
pending collision  Avith  Romola;  no  persuasive  blandness  could 
cushion  him  against  the  shock  towards  Avhich  he  Avas  being 
driven  like  a  timid  animal  urged  to  a  desperate  leap  by  the 
terror  of  the  tooth  and  the  claw  that  are  close  behind  it. 

The  secret  feeling  he  had  previoiisly  had  that  the  tenacious 
adherence  to  Bardo's  Avishes  about  the  library  had  become  un- 
der existing  difticulties  a  piece  of  sentimental  folly,  Avhich  de- 
prived himself  and  Romola  of  substantial  advantages,  might 

perhaps  never  have  Avrought  itself  into  action  but  for  the  events 

1 1  * 


250  UOMOI.A. 

of  the  past  wpok,  wliirh  lia  1  broui^lit  at  onco  the  pressure  of  q 
new  motive  ami  the  outlet  of  u  rare  ojtportunity.  Nay,  it  wau 
not  till  his  dreatl  liad  been  aggravated  by  the  siglit  of  Haldas- 
sarre  li)oking  more  like  his  sane  self,  not  until  lie  had  begun 
to  feel  that  he  might  be  compelled  to  tiee  from  Florence,  lluit 
he  ha(i  brouglit  himself  to  resolve  on  using  his  legal  right  to 
sell  the  library  before  the  great  opportunity  offered  by  French 
and  Milanese  bidders  slipped  through  his  lingers.  l''or  if  he 
had  to  leave  Floivnee  he  did  not  want  to  leave  it  as  a  destitute 
wanderer.  He  had  been  used  to  an  agreeable  existence,  and 
he  wished  to  carry  with  him  all  the  means  at  hand  for  retain- 
ing the  same  agreeable  conditions.  He  wished  among  other 
things  to  carry  liomola  with  him,  and  not,  if  possible,  to  carry 
any  infamy.  Success  had  given  him  a  growing  aj)petite  for 
all  the  ])leasures  that  depend  on  an  advantageous  social  ])0si- 
tion,and  at  no  moment  coulil  it  look  like  a  temi)tation  to  him, 
but  only  like  a  hideous  alternative,  to  decamp  under  dishonor, 
even  with  a  bag  of  diamonds,  and  incur  the  life  of  an  ndven- 
turer.  It  was  not  possible  for  him  to  make  himself  independent 
even  of  those  Florentines  who  only  greeted  him  with  regard; 
still  less  was  it  possible  for  him  to  make  himself  independ- 
ent of  Romola.  She  was  the  wife  of  his  first  love — he  loved 
her  still ;  she  belonged  to  "that  furniture  of  life  which  he  shrank 
from  parting  with.  He  winced  under  her  judgment,  he  felt 
utu-ertain  how  far  the  revulsion  of  lier  feeling  towards  liim 
might  go ;  and  all  that  sense  of  jiower  over  a  wife  which 
makes  a  husband  risk  betrayals  that  a  lover  never  ventures  on, 
would  not  suffice  to  counteract  Tito's  uneasiness.  This  was. 
the  leailen  weight  which  had  been  too  strong  for  his  will,  and 
kept  him  from  raising  his  head  to  meet  her  eyes.  Their  pure 
light  brought  too  near  him  the  prospect  of  a  coming  struggle. 
But  it  was  not  to  be  helped  :  if  they  had  to  leave  Florence  they 
must  have  money  ;  indeed,  Tito  could  not  arrange  life  at  all  to 
his  mind  without  a  considerable  sum  of  money.  And  that 
problem  o£  arranging  life  to  his  mind  had  been  the  source  of 
all  his  mis(lf)ing.  He  would  have  been  equal  to  any  sacrifice 
that  was  not  un})leasant. 

The  rustling  magnates  came  and  went,  the  bargains  liad 
been  concluded,  and  IJomola  returned  home;  but  nothing 
grave  was  said  that  night.  Tito  was  only  gay  and  chatty, 
j)ouring  forth  to  lier,  as  lie  liad  not  done  before,  stories  an<l 
descriptions  of  what  he  had  witnessed  during  the  French 
visit.  IJomohi  thought  she  discerned  an  effort  in  his  liveli- 
ness, and  attributing  it  to  the  consciousness  in  him  that  she 
had  been  wounded  in  the  morning,  accepted  the  effort  as  an 
act  of  penitence,  inwardly  aching  a  little  at  that  sign  of  grow 


ROMOLA.  25 1 

lug  distance  between  them — that  there  was  an  otieuse  about 
which  neither  of  them  dared  to  speak. 

The  next  day  Tito  remained  away  from  home  until  late  at 
night.  It  was  a  marked  day  to  Romola,  for  Piero  di  Cosimo, 
stimulated  to  greater  industry  on  hei"  behalf  by  the  fear  that 
he  might  have  been  the  cause  of  pain  to  her  in  the  past  week, 
had  sent  home  her  father's  portrait.  She  had  propped  it 
against  the  back  of  his  old  chair,  and  had  been  looking  at  it 
tor  some  time,  when  the  door  opened  behind  her  and  Bernar- 
do del  Nero  came  in. 

"  It  is  you,  godfather  !  How  I  wish  you  had  come  soon- 
er: it  is  getting  a  little  dusk,"  said  Romola,  going  towards 
him. 

"I  have  just  looked  in  to  tell  you  the  good  news,  for  I  know 
Tito  is  not  come  yet,"  said  Bernardo.  "The  French  king- 
moves  off  to-morrow;  not  before  it  is  high  time.  There  has 
been  another  tussle  between  our  people  and  his  soldiers  this 
morning.  But  there's  a  chance  now  of  the  city  getting  into 
order  once  more  and  trade  going  on." 

"  That  is  joyful,"  said  Romola.  "  But  it  is  sudden,  is  it  not  ? 
Tito  seemed  to  think  yesterday  that  there  was  little  prospect 
of  the  king's  going  soon." 

"  He  has  been  well  barked  at,  that's  the  reason,"  said  Ber- 
nardo, smiling.  "His  own  generals  opened  their  throats  pret- 
ty well,  and  at  last  our  Signoria  sent  the  mastiff  of  the  city, 
Fra  Girolamo.  The  Crisdanissimo  was  frightened  at  that 
thunder,  and  has  given  the  order  to  move.  I'm  afraid  there'll 
be  small  agreement  among  us  when  he's  gone,  but,  at  any  rate, 
all  parties  are  agreed  in  being  glad  not  to  have  Florence  stifled 
with  soldiery  any  longer,  and  the  Frate  has  barked  this  time 
to  some  purpose.  All,  what  is  this  ?"  he  added,  as  Romola, 
clasping  him  by  the  arm,  led  him  in  front  of  the  picture. 
"  Let  us  see." 

He  began  to  unwind  his  long  scarf  while  she  placed  a  seat 
ior  him. 

"Don't  you  want  your  spectacles,  godfather?"  said  Romo- 
la, in  anxiety  that  he  should  see  just  what  she  saw. 

"  Xo,  child,  no,"  said  Bernardo,  uncovering  his  gray  head, 
as  he  seated  himself  with  firm  erectness.  "For  seeing  at  this 
distance  my  old  eyes  are  perhaps  better  than  your  young  ones. 
Old  men's  eyes  are  like  old  men's  memories ;  they  are  strong- 
est for  things  a  long  way  off." 

"  It  is  better  than  having  no  portrait,"  said  Romola,  apolo- 
getically, after  Bernardo  had  been  silent  a  little  while.  "  It  is 
less  like  him  now  than  the  image  I  have  in  my  mind,  but  then 
that  might  fade  with  the  years."     She  rested  her  arm  on  tho 


252  ROMOLA. 

old  iiiair.s  shouIdiT  as  she  spoke,  tlrawn  towards  liim  strongly 
by  tlieir  coinnion  interest  in  tlie  dead. 

"I  donH  know,"  said  Bernardo.  "I  almost  tliink  T  see 
Bardo  as  he  was  when  he  was  young,  better  than  that  i)icturo 
shows  liini  to  me  as  he  was  when  he  was  oUl.  Your  father 
had  a  great  deal  of  fire  in  his  eyes  when  he  was  young.  It 
was  what  I  could  never  midcrstand,  that  lie,  with  his  fiery 
spirit,  which  seemed  much  more  impatient  than  mine,  could 
hang  over  the  books  and  live  with  shadows  all  his  life.  How- 
ever, he  had  put  his  heart  into  that." 

Bernardo  gave  a  slight  shrug  as  he  spoke  the  last  words, 
but  Itomola  discerned  in  his  voice  a  feeling  that  accorded  with 
her  own. 

"  And  he  was  disappointed  to  the  last,"  she  said,  involun- 
tarily. But  immediately  fearing  lest  her  words  should  be  tak- 
en to  imply  an  accusation  against  Tito,  she  went  on  almost 
hurriedly,  "  If  we  could  only  see  his  longest,  dearest  wish  ful- 
filled just  to  his  mind  !  ' 

"  Well,  so  we  may,"  said  Bernardo,  kindly,  rising  and  put- 
ting on  his  cap.  "The  times  are  cloudy  now,  but  fish  are 
caught  by  waiting.  Who  knows?  When  the  wheel  has 
turned  often  enough,  I  may  be  Gonfaloniere  yet  before  I  die ; 
and  no  creditor  can  touch  these  things."  He  looked  round  as 
lie  spoke.  Then,  turning  to  her,  and  patting  her  cheek,  said, 
"  And  you  need  not  be  afraid  of  my  dying ;  my  ghost  will 
claim  nothing.     I've  taken  care  of  that  in  my  will." 

liomola  seized  the  hand  that  was  against  her  cheek,  and 
put  it  to  her  lijis  in  silence. 

"Haven't  y<Mi  bi'cn  scolding  your  liusband  for  keeping 
away  from  home  so  much  lately?  I  see  him  everywhere  but 
)it/e,"  said  Bernardo,  willing  to  change  the  subject. 

She  felt  the  flush  spread  over  her  neck  and  face  as  she  said, 
"  He  has  been  very  much  wanted ;  you  know  he  speaks  so 
Avell.     I  am  glad  to  know  that  his  value  is  understood." 

"  You  are  contented,  then,  Madonna  Orgogliosa  ?"  said  Ber- 
nardo, smiling  as  he  moved  to  the  door. 

"  Assuredly." 

Poor  Bomola  !  Tlicre  was  one  thing  that  would  liave  made 
the  pang  of  disappointmi-nt  in  her  husband  harder  to  bear:  it 
was,  that  any  one  should  know  he  gave  her  cause  for  disap- 
pointment. '  This  might  be  a  woman's  weakness,  but  it  is  close- 
ly ftllicd  to  a  woman's  nobleness.  She  who  willingly  lifts  up 
the  veil  of  her  married  life  has  profaned  it  fioui  a  sanctuary 
into  a  vulgar  place. 


EOMOLA.  *  2c)3 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

A  REVELATIOX. 

The  next  day  Romola,  like  every  other  Florentine,  was  ex« 
sited  about  the  departure  of  the  French.  Besides  her  other 
reasons  for  gladness,  she  had  a  dim  hope,  which  she  was  cou' 
Rclous  was  half  superstitious,  that  those  new  anxieties  about 
Tito,  having  come  with  the  burdensome  guests,  might  perhaps 
vanish  with  them.  The  French  had  been  in  Florence  hardly 
eleven  days,  but  in  that  space  she  had  felt  more  acute  unhap- 
piness  than  she  had  known  in  her  life  before.  Tito  had  adopt- 
ed the  hateful  armor  on  the  day  of  their  arrival,  and  though 
she  could  frame  no  distinct  notion  why  their  departure  should 
remove  the  cause  of  his  fear — though,  wlien  she  thought  of 
that  cause,  the  image  of  the  prisoner  grasping  him,  as  she  had 
seen  it  in  Piero's  sketch,  urged  itself  before  her  and  excluded 
every  other — still,  when  the  French  were  gone,  she  would  be 
rid  of  something  that  was  strongly  associated  with  her  pain. 

Wrapped  in  her  mantle  she  waited  under  the  loggia  at  the 
top  of  the  house,  and  Avatched  for  the  glimpses  of  tlie  troops 
and  the  roj'al  retinue  passing  the  bridges  on  their  way  to  the 
Porta  San  Piero,  that  looks  towards  Siena  and  Rome.  She 
even  returned  to  her  station  Avhen  the  gates  liad  been  closed, 
that  she  might  feel  lierself  vibrating  with  the  great  peal  of 
the  bells.  It  was  dusk  then,  and  when  at  last  she  descended 
into  the  library,  she  lit  her  lamp,  with  the  resolution  that  she 
would  overcome  the  agitation  that  had  made  her  idle  all  day, 
and  sit  down  to  work  at  her  copying  of  the  catalogue.  Tito 
had  left  home  early  in  the  morning,  and  she  did  not  expect 
him  yet.  Before  he  came  she  intended  to  leave  the  library, 
and  sit  in  the  pretty  saloon,  with  the  dancing  nymphs  and 
the  birds.  She  liad  done  so  every  evening  since  he  had  ob- 
jected to  the  library  as  chill  and  gloomy. 

To  her  great  surprise,  she  had  not  been  at  work  long  before 
Tito  entered.  Her  first  thought  was,  how  cheerless  he  would 
feel  the  wide  darkness  of  this  great  room,  with  one  little  oil- 
lamp  burning  at  the  farther  end;,  and  the  fire  nearly  out.  She 
almost  ran  towards  him. 

"  Tito,  dearest,  I  did  not  know  you  would  come  so  soon," 
she  said,  nervously  putting  up  he?"  white  arms  to  unwind  his 
becehetto. 

I  am  not  welcome  then  ?"  he  said^  with  one  of  his  bright- 


(( 


254  UOMOLA. 


est  smiles,  clixsiiing  licr,  bill  jdayfiiUy  lioUliiiLij  liis  licad  l)ack 
from  Irt. 

"Tito!"  Slu'  utterod  tlie  word  in  a  tone  ot  ))retty,  loving 
n'proacli,  and  then  lie  kissed  her  fondly,  stroked  her  Imir,  as 
his  manner  \vas,  and  seemed  not  to  mind  about  taking  oft"  liis 
mantle  yet.  Komola  (luivered  with  delight.  All  the  emotions 
of  the  day  had  been  pieparing  in  licr  a  keener  sensitiveness  to 
the  return  of  this  habitual  maimer.  "  It  will  eome  back,"  she 
was  saying  to  herself,  '*  the  old  hajipincss  will  jierhaps  conic 
back.     He  is  like  himself  again  !" 

Tito  was  taking  great  ]»ains  to  be  like  himself;  liis  licart 
was  pal])it;iting  with  anxiety. 

"  If  I  had  expected  you  so  soon,"  said  Romola,  as  she  at 
last  helped  him  to  take  oft"  liis  wrapjnngs,  "I  would  have  liad 
a  little  festival  pre])are(l  to  this  joyful  ringing  of  the  bells.  I 
did  not  mean  to  be  here  in  the  Tbrarvwhen  vou  catne  home." 

"  Never  mind,  sweet,"  lie  said,  carelessly.  *'  Do  not  think 
about  the  fire.     Come — come  and  sit  down." 

There  was  a  low  stool  against  Tito's  chair,  and  that  was 
liomola's  habitual  seat  when  they  were  talking  together.  She 
rested  her  arm  on  his  knee,  as  she  used  to  do  on  her  father's, 
ami  looked  up  at  him  while  he  spoke.  He  had  never  yet 
noticed  the  ])resence  of  the  jtortrait,  and  she  had  not  mention- 
ed it — thinking  of  it  all  the  more. 

"  I  have  been  enjoying  the  clang  of  the  bells  for  the  first 
time,  Tito,"  she  began.  '"I  liked  being  shaken  ami  di-afened 
\)y  them  :  I  fancied  I  v  as  something  like  a  Bacchante  ])ossessod 
by  a  <livine  rage.  Are  not  the  peoi)le  looking  very  joyful  to- 
night":'" 

"Joyful  after  a  sour  and  pious  fashion,"  said  Tito,  with  a 
shrug.  "  But,  in  truth,  those  who  are  left  behind  in  I"'lorence 
have  little  cause  to  be  joyful  ;  it  seems  to  me,  the  most  reason- 
able ground  of  gladness  would  be  to  have  got  out  of  Florence." 

Tito  had  sounded  the  <lesired  key-note  without  any  trouble, 
or  a])pearance  of  premeditation.  He  spoke  with  no  emjihas's, 
Init  he  looked  grave  enough  to  make  Komola  ask,  rather  anx- 
iouslv, 

"  Why,  Tito  ?     Are  there  fresh  troubles  ?" 

"  Xo  "need  of  fresh  ones,  my  IJomola.  There  arc  tlireo 
Pirong  parties  in  the  city,  all  ready  to  fiy  at  each  other's 
throats.  And  if  the  Frate's  i)arty  is  strong  enough  to  frighten 
the  other  two  into  silence,  as  seems  most  likely,  life  will  be  as 
])leasant  and  amusing  as  a  funeral.  They  have  the  ])lan  of  a 
great  Council  simmering  already;  and  if  they  get  it,  the  man 
who  sings  sacred  lauds  the  loudest  will  be  the  most  eligible 
for  (;flice.     And  besides  that,  the  city  will  be  so  drained  by 


ROilOLA.  255 

tliC  payment  of  tliis  o-veat  subsidy  to  the  French  king,  and  by 
the  war  to  get  back  Pisa,  that  the  prospect  woukl  be  dismal 
enough  without  the  rule  of  fanatics.  On  the  whole,  Florence 
will  1)0  a  delightful  place  for  those  worthies  Avho  entertain 
themselves  in  the  evening  by  going  into  crypts  and  lashing 
themselves;  but  for  every  thing  else  the  exiles  have  the  best 
of  it.  For  my  own  part,  I  have  been  thinking  seriously  that 
we  should  be  wise  to  qiut  Florence,  my  Komola." 

She  started.  "  Tito,  how  could  we  leave  Florence  ?  Surely 
you  do  not  think  I  could  leave  it — at  least,  not  yet— not  for  a 
long  while."  She  had  turned  cold  and  trembling,  and  did  not 
find  it  quite  easy  to  speak.  Tito  must  know  the  reasons  she 
had  in  her  mind. 

"  That  is  all  a  fabric  of  your  own  imagination,  my  sweet 
one.  Your  secluded  life  has  made  you  lay  such  false  stress  on 
a  few  things.  You  know  I  used  to  tell  you,  before  we  were 
married,  that  I  wished  we  were  somewhere  else  than  in  Flor- 
ence. If  you  had  seen  more  places  and  more  peo{)le,  you 
would  know  what  I  mean  when  I  say  tliat  there  is  something 
in  the  Florentines  that  reminds  me  of  their  cutting  spring 
winds.  I  like  people  who  take  life  less  eagerly ;  and  it  would 
be  good  for  my  Romola,  too,  to  see  a  new  life.  I  should  like 
to  dip  her  a  little  in  the  soft  Avaters  of  forgetfulness." 

He  leaned  forward  and  kissed  hev  brow,  and  laid  liis  hand 
on  her  fair  hair  again ;  but  she  felt  his  caress  no  more  than  if 
he  had  kissed  a  mask.  She  was  too  much  agitated  by  the 
sense  of  the  distance  between  their  minds  to  be  conscious  that 
his  lips  touched  her. 

"  Tito,  it  is  not  because  I  suppose  Florence  is  the  pleasant- 
cst  place  in  the  world  that  I  desire  not  to  quit  it.  It  is  because 
I — because  we  have  to  see  my  father's  wish  fulfilled.  My 
godfather  is  old — he  is  seventv-one — we  could  not  leave  it  to 
him." 

"  It  is  precisely  those  superstitions  which  hang  about  your 
mind  like  bedimming  clouds,  my  Romola,  that  make  one  great 
reason  why  I  could  wish  we  were  two  hundred  leagues  from 
Florence.  I  am  obliged  to  take  care  of  you  in  opposition  to 
your  own  will :  if  those  dear  eyes,  that  look  ^o  tender,  see 
falsely,  I  must  see  for  them,  and  save  my  wife  from  Avasting 
her  life  in  disappointing  herself  by  impracticable  dreams." 

Romola  sat  silent  and  motionless ;  she  could  not  blind  her- 
self  to  the  direction  in  which  Tito's  words  pointed  :  he  want- 
ed to  persuade  her  that  they  might  get  the  library  deposited 
in  some  monastery,  or  take  some  other  ready  means  to  rid 
themselves  of  a  task,  and  a  tie  to  Florence  ;  and  she  was  deter- 
mined never  to  submit  her  mind  to  his  judgment  on  this  ques- 


256  ROMOLA. 

tioii  of  duly  to  licr  fiither ;  slie  wns  inwanlly  prejiarcd  to  oiv 
couuttr  :iny  sort  of  j)ain  in  resistance,  liut  tlie  ilutenniiiatioh 
was  kept  latent  in  these  first  moments  by  the  heart-crusliins^ 
.-enst'  that  now  at  last  she  and  Tito  must  be  confessedly  di- 
vided in  llieir  wislies.  lie  was  glad  of  her  silence,  for,  mvich 
as  he  had  feared  the  strength  of  her  feeling,  it  was  impossible 
for  him,  shut  uj»  in  the  narrowness  that  hedges  in  all  merely 
elever,  unimpassioned  men,  not  to  overestimate  the  persuasive- 
ness of  his  own  arguments.  His  conduct  did  not  look  ugly  to 
himself,  and  his  imagination  did  not  suHice  to  show  him  exactly 
how  it  would  look  to  Komola.  He  went  on  in  the  same  gentle, 
remonstrating  tone. 

"  You  know,  dearest — your  own  clear  judgment  always 
showed  you — that  the  notion  of  isolating  a  collection  of  books 
and  anti(piities,  and  attaching  a  single  name  to  them  forever, 
was  one  that  had  no  valid,  substantial  good  for  its  object :  and 
yet  more,  one  that  was  liable  to  be  defeated  in  a  tliousand  ways. 
See  Avhat  has  become  of  the  Medici  collections  !  And,  for  my 
j)art,  1  consider  it  even  blameworthy  to  enteriain  those  petty 
views  of  appropriation  :  why  should  any  one  be  reasonably 
glad  that  Florence  should  i)0ssess  the  bchetits  of  learned  re- 
search and  taste  more  than  any  other  city  ?  I  understand  your 
feeling  about  the  wishes  of  the  dead  ;  but  wisdom  puts  a  limit 
to  these  sentiments,  else  lives  might  be  continually  wasted  in 
that  sort  of  futile  devotion — like  i)raising  deaf  gods  forever. 
You  gave  your  life  to  your  father  while  he  lived ;  wliy  should 
you  (lemand  more  of  yourself  ?" 

"  liecause  it  was  a  trust,"  said  Romola,  in  a  low  but  distinct 
voice,  "  He  trusted  nie,  he  trusted  you,  Tito.  I  did  not  ex- 
pect you  to  feel  any  thing  else  about  it — to  feel  as  I  do — but  1 
did  expect  you  to  feel  that." 

^' Yes,  dearest,  of  course  I  should  fei'l  it  on  a  point  where 
your  father's  real  welfare  or  happiness  was  concerned  ;  but 
there  is  no  question  of  that  now.  If  we  believed  in  purgatory, 
I  should  be  as  anxious  as  you  to  have  masses  said  ;  and  if  I 
believed  it  could  pain  your  father  to  see  his  library  ])reserved 
and  usimI  in  a  rather  different  way  from  what  he  had  set  liis 
mind  on,  I  shoidd  share  the  strictness  of  your  views.  Hut  a 
little  philosopliy  should  teach  us  to  rid  ourselves  of  those  air- 
woven  fettiM-s  that  mortals  hang  round  themselves,  spending 
their  lives  in  misery  imder  the  mere  imagination  of  weight. 
Your  mind,  which  seizes  ideas  so  readily,  my  Kojnola,  is  able 
to  discriminate  between  sidistantial  good  and  these  brain- 
wrought  fantasies.  Ask  yourself,  dearest,  what  possi!)le  good 
can  these  books  and  antifpiitiesdo  stowed  together  under  your 
father's  name  in  Florfiici-,  more  than  they  would  do  if  tliey 


EOMOLA.  257 

were  divided  or  carried  elsewhere  ?  Nay,  is  not  the  very  dis- 
persion of  such  things  in  hands  that  know  how  to  value  them, 
one  means  of  extending  their  usefulness  ?  This  rivalry  of 
Italian  cities  is  very  petty  and  illiberal.  The  loss  of  Constanti- 
nople was  the  gain  of  the  whole  civilized  world." 

Romola  Avas  still  too  thoroughly  under  tlie  painful  pressure 
of  the  new  revelation  Tito  was  making  of  himself  for  her  re- 
sistance to  find  any  strong  vent.  As  that  fluent  talk  fell  on 
her  ears  there  was  a  rising  contempt  within  her,  which  only 
made  her  more  conscious  of  her  bruised  despairing  love,  her 
love  for  the  Tito  she  had  married  and  believed  in.  Her  nature, 
possessed  with  the  energies  of  strong  emotion,  recoiled  from 
this  hopelessly  shallow  readiness  which  professed  to  approjDri- 
ate  the  widest  sympathies  and  had  no  pulse  for  the  nearest. 
She  still  spoke  like  one  who  was  restrained*  from  showing  all 
she  felt.  She  had  only  drawn  away  her  arm  from  his  knee, 
and  sat  with  her  hands  clasped  before  her,  cold  and  motionless 
as  locked  waters. 

"  You  talk  of  substantial  good,  Tito  !  Are  faithfulness,  and 
love,  and  sweet  grateful  memories  no  good  ?  Is  it  no  good  that 
We  should  keep  our  silent  promises  on  which  others  build  be- 
cause they  beheve  in  our  love  and  truth  ?  Is  it  no  o;ood  that 
a  just  life  should  be  justly  honored '?  Or,  is  it  good  that  we 
should  harden  our  hearts  against  all  the  wants  and  hopes  of 
those  who  have  depended  on  us  ?  What  good  can  belong  to 
men  Avho  have  such  souls  ?  To  talk  cleverly,  perhaps,  and  find 
soft  couches  for  themselves,  and  live  and' die  with  their  base 
selves  as  their  best  companions." 

Her  voice  had  gradually  risen  till  there  was  a  ring  of  scorn 
in  the  last  words ;  she  made  a  slight  pause,  but  he  saw  there 
were  other  words  quivering  on  her  lips,  and  he  chose  to  let 
them  come. 

"  I  know  of  no  good  for  cities  or  the  world  if  they  are  to 
be  made  up  of  such  beings.  But  I  am  not  thinking  of  other 
Italian  cities  and  the  whole  civilized  world — I  am  thinking  of 
my  father,  and  of  ray  love  and  sorrow  for  him,  and  of  his  just 
claims  on  us.  I  would  give  up  any  thing  else,  Tito — I  would 
leave  Florence — what  else  did  I  live  for  but  for  him  and  you  ? 
But  I  will  not  give  up  that  duty.  What  have  I  to  do  \vith 
your  arguments  ?  It  was  a  yearning  of  his  heart,  and  therefore 
it  is  a  yearning  of  mine." 

Her  voice,  from  having  been  tremulous,  had  become  full  and 
firm.  She  felt  that  she  had  been  urged  oa  to  say  all  that 
it  was  needful  for  her  to  say.  She  thought,  poor  thiag ! 
there  was  nothing  harder  to  come  than  this  struggle  against 
Tito's  suggestions  as  against  the  meaner  part  of  herself. 


258  noMOLA. 

He  had  bcfr'm  to  sec  ck'nrly  tliat  lie  could  not  iicrsnadc  licr 
into  assent :  he  must  take  another  course,  and  sliow  lier  that 
the  time  for  resistance  was  past.  That,  at  least,  would  juit  an 
end  to  further  struLTgle  ;  antl  if  the  tlisclosure  were  not  nia<le 
1)V  himself  to-ni<j^ht,  to-morrow  it  must  be  made  in  anoth'er  way. 
That  necessity  nerved  his  couratije  ;  and  his  experience  of  her 
affectionateness  and  unexpected  submissiveness,  ever  since 
their  marriai^c  unlil  now,  encouraijed  him  to  hoj)e  that,  at  last, 
she  would  accommotlate  herself  to  what  l:ad  been  his  will. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  you  speak  in  that  spirit  of  blind  per- 
sistence, my  liomola,"  he  said,  quietly,  "  because  it  obliges  mc 
to  give  you  pain.  l>ut  I  partly  foresaw  your  o])position,  and  as- 
a  prom])t  dec;ision  was  necessary,  I  avoided  that  obstacle,  and 
decitled  without  consulting  you.  The  very  care  of  a  husband 
for  liis  wife's  interest  comjiels  him  to  that  separate  action 
sometimes — even  when  he  has  such  a  wife  as  you,  my  llomola." 

She  turned  her  eyes  on  him  in  breatldess  in<piiry. 

"  I  me.an,"  he  said,  answering  her  look,  "  that  I  have 
arranged  for  the  transfer,  both  of  the  books  and  antiquities, 
where  they  will  lind  the  highest  use  and  value.  The  books 
have  been  bought  for  the  Duke  of  Milan,  the  marbles  and 
bronzes  and  the  rest  are  going  to  France :  and  l)oth  will  be 
jn-otected  by  the  stability  of  a  great  Power,  instead  of  remain- 
ing in  a  city  -which  is  exposed  to  ruin." 

l^efore  he  had  finished  speaking  J{omola  had  started  from 
lier  si':it,  and  stood  up  looking  down  at  him,  with  tightened 
liands  falling  before  her,  and,  for  the  tirst  time  in  her  life,  with 
a  Hash  of  fierceness  in  lier  scorn  and  anger. 

"  You  have  soldihcm  ?"  she  asked,  as  if  she  distrusted  her 
ears. 

"  I  have,"  said  Tito,  (piailing  a  little.  The  scene  was  un- 
pleasant— the  descending  scorn  already  scorched  him. 

"  You  are  a  treacherous  man  I"  she  said,  with  something 
grating  in  her  voice,  as  she  looked  dotvn  at  him. 

She  was  silent  for  a  minute,  and  he  sat  still,  feeling  that  in- 
gemiity  was  powerless  just  now.  Suddenly  she  turned  :nvay, 
and  said,  in  an  agitated  tone,"  It  may  be  hindered — I  am  go- 
Mig  to  my  godfather." 

In  an  instant  Tito  started  up,  went  to  the  door,  locked  il, 
and  took  out  the  key.  It  was  time  for  all  the  niasctiline  pre- 
dominance tliat  was  latent  in  him  to  show  itself.  I>iit  he  was 
not  angry ;  he  only  felt  that  the  moment  was  eminently  un- 
pleasant, "and  th;rt  when  this  scene  was  at  an  end  he  should  be 
glad  to  keep  away  from  Komola  for  a  little  while,  lint  it 
was  absolutely  necessary  first  that  she  should  be  redufK^d  to 
passiveness. 


ROilOLA,  259 

"  Try  to  calm  yourself  a  little,  RomoLa,"  he  said,  leaning  in 
the  easiest  attitude  possible  against  a  pedestal  under  the  bust 
of  a  grim  old  Roman.  Not  that  he  was  inwardly  easy : 
his  heart  palpitated  a  little  with  a  moral  dread,  against  which 
no  chain-armor  could  be  found.  He  had  locked  in  his  wife's 
anger  and  scorn,  but  he  had  been  obliged  to  lock  himself  in 
with  it :  and  his  blood  did  not  rise  with  contest — his  olive 
choek  was  jierceptibly  paled. 

Romola  had  paused  and  turned  her  eyes  on  him  as  she  saw 
him  take  his  stand  and  lodge  the  key  in  his  scarsella.  Her 
eyes  were  Hashing,  and  her  whole  frame  seemed  to  be  possess- 
ed by  impetuous  force  that  wanted  to  leap  out  in  some  deed. 
All  the  crushing  pain  of  disappointment  in  her  husband,  which 
had  made  the  strongest  part  of  her  consciousness  a  few  min- 
utes before,  was  annihilated  by  the  vehemence  of  her  indigna- 
tion. She  could  not  care  in  this  moment  that  the  man  she  was 
despising  as  he  leaned  there  in  his  loathsome  beauty — she 
could  not  care  that  he  was  her  liusband ;  she  could  only  feel 
that  she  despised  him.  The  pride  and  fierceness  of  the  old  Bar- 
di  blood  had  been  thoroughly  a\\'aked  in  her  for  the  first  time. 

"Try  at  least  to  understand  the  fact,"  said  Tito,  "and  do 
not  seek  to  take  futile  steps  which  may  be  fatal.  It  is  of  no 
iise  for  you  to  go  to  your  godfather.  Mcsser  Beiuiardo  can 
not  reverse  what  I  have  done.  Only  sit  down.  You  would 
hardly  wish,  if  you  were  quite  yourself,  to  make  known  to  any 
thii-d  person  what  passes  between  us  in  private." 

Tito  knew  that  he  had  touched  the  right  fibre  there.  But 
she  did  not  sit  down ;  she  Avas  too  unconscious  of  her  body 
voluntarily  to  change  her  attitude. 

"  Why  can  it  not  be  reversed  ?"  she  said,  after  a  pause. 
"  Nothing  is  moved  yet." 

"  Simply  because  the  sale  has  been  concluded  by  written 
agreement ;  the  purchasers  have  left  P'lorence,  and  I  hold  the 
bonds  for  the  purchase-money." 

"  If  my  father  had  suspected  you  of  being  a  faithless  man," 
said  Romola,  in  a  tone  of  bitter  scorn,  which  insisted  on  dart- 
ing out  before  she  could  say  any  thing  else,  "  he  would  have 
placed  the  library  safely  out  of  your  power.  But  death  over- 
took him  too  soon,  and  when  you  were  sure  his  ear  was  deaf, 
and  his  hand  stiff,  you  robbed  him."  She  paused  an  instant, 
and  then  said,  with  gathered  passion,  "  Have  you  robbed  some- 
body  else,  wlio  is  not  dead?  Is  that  the  reason  you  wear 
armor  ?" 

Romola  had  been  driven  to  litter  the  words  as  men  are  driv- 
en to  use  the  lash  of  the  horsewhip.  At  first  Tito  felt  horri- 
bly cowed ;  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  disgrace  he  had  been 


2G0  ROMOLA. 

(Ireadinc^  would  be  worse  than  he  liad  inia^inotl  it.  But  soon 
tliero  was  :i  reactioi) :  such  i)u\vei'  of  clisliku  and  resistance  as 
there  was  williin  him  Avas  beginning  to  rise  against  a  wife 
wliose  voice  seemed  like  tlie  heralil  of  a  retributive  fate.  Her, 
at  k'ast,  his  quick  mind  told  him  that  he  might  master. 

"  It  is  useless,"  he  said,  coolly,  "  to  answer  the  words  of 
madness,  Komola.  Your  peculiar  feeling  about  your  father 
has  made  you  mad  at  this  moment.  Any  rational  person  look- 
ing at  the  case  from  a  due  distance  will  see  that  I  have  taken 
the  wisest  course.  Apart  from  the  influence  of  your  exagger- 
ated feelings  on  him,  I  am  convinced  that  Messer  Bernardo 
would  be  of  that  0])inion." 

"  He  would  not !"  said  Romola.  "  He  lives  in  the  hope  of 
seeing  my  father's  wish  exactly  fulfilled.  We  spoke  of  it  to- 
gether only  yesterday.  He  will  help  me  yet.  Who  are  these 
men  to  whom  you  have  sold  my  fatlier's  property  ?" 

"There  is  no  reason  why  you  should  not  be  told,  except 
that  it  signifies  little.  The  Count  di  San  Severino  and  the 
Seneschal  de  Beaucaire  are  now  on  their  way  with  the  king 
to  Sienna," 

"They  may  be  overtaken  and  persuaded  to  give  up  their 
purchase,"  said  Komola,  eagerly,  her  anger  beginning  to  be 
surmounted  by  anxious  thought. 

"  No,  they  may  not,"  said  Tito,  with  cool  decision. 

"  Why  ?" 

"  Because  I  do  not  choose  that  they  should." 

"But  if  you  were  paid  the  money? — we  will  pay  you  the 
money,"  said  Komola.  No  words  could  have  disclosed  more 
fully  her  sense  of  alienation  from  Tito;  but  they  were  si)okcn 
with  less  of  bitterness  than  of  anxious  ])leading.  And  he  felt 
strotigcr,  for  he  saw  that  the  iirst  impulse  of  fury  was  past. 

"  No,  my  Komola.  Understand  tliat  such  thoughts  as  these 
are  impracticable.  You  avouIiI  not,  in  a  reasonable  moment, 
ask  your  godfather  to  l)ury  three  thousand  florins  in  addition 
to  what  he  has  already  paid  on  the  library.  I  think  your 
pride  and  delicacy  would  shrink  from  that." 

She  began  to  tremble  and  turn  cold  again  with  discourage- 
ment, and  sank  down  on  the  carved  chest  near  whic^h  she  M'as 
standing.  He  Avent  on  in  a  clear  A'oice,  un«ler  Avhich  she  shud- 
dered, as  if  it  had  been  a  narrow  cold  stream  coursing  over  a 
liot  chei'k. 

"Moreover,  it  is  not  my  Avill  thr.t  Messer  Bernardo  shoifld 
a<lvance  the  money,  even  if  the  project  Avere  not  an  utterly 
Avilil  one.  And  I  beg  you  to  consider,  bef(>re  you  take  any 
step  or  utter  any  word  on  the  subject,  what  Avill  be  the  conse- 
quences of  your  placing  your.self  in  oj)position  to  me,  and  try* 


EOMOLA.  261 

ing  to  exhibit  your  husband  in  the  odious  light  which  your 
own  distempered  feelings  cast  over  him.  What  object  will 
you  serve  by  injuring  me  with  Messer  Bernardo?  The  event 
is  irrevocable,  the  library  is  sold,  and  you  are  my  wife." 

Every  word  was  spoken  for  the  sake  of  a  calculated  effect, 
for  his  intellect  was  urged  into  the  utmost  activity  by  the 
dansfer  of  the  crisis.  He  knew  that  Romola's  mind  would 
take  in  rapidly  enough  all  the  wide  meaning  of  his  speech. 
He  waited  and  watched  her  in  silence. 

She  had  turned  her  eyes  from  him  and  was  looking  on  thu 
ground,  and  in  that  way  she  sat  for  several  minutes.  When 
she  spoke  her  voice  was  quite  altered — it  W'as  quiet  and  cold. 

"  I  have  one  thing  to  ask." 

"  Ask  any  thing  that  I  can  do  without  inj  uring  us  both, 
Romola." 

"  That  you  will  give  me  that  portion  of  the  money  which 
belongs  to  my  godfather,  and  let  me  pay  him," 

"  I  must  have  some  assurance  f  I'om  you,  first,  of  the  atti- 
tude you  intend  to  take  towards  me." 

"  Do  you  believe  in  assurances,  Tito  ?"  she  said,  with  a 
tinge  of  returning  bitterness. 

"  From  you,  I  do." 

"I  will  do  you  no  harm.  I  shall  disclose  nothing.  I  wall 
say  nothing  to  pain  him  or  you.  You  say  truly,  the  event  is 
irrevocable." 

"Then  I  will  do  what  you  desire  to-morrow  morning." 

"  To-night,  if  possible,"  said  Romola,  "  that  we  may  not 
speak  of  it  again." 

"It  is  possible,"  he  said,  moving  towards  the  lamp, Avhile 
she  sat  still,  looking  away  from  him  with  absent  eyes. 

Presently  he  came  and  bent  down  over  her,  to  put  a  piece 
of  paper  into  lier  hand.  "  You  will  receive  something  in  re- 
turn, you  are  aware,  my  Romola?"  he  said,  gently,  not  mind- 
ing so  much  what  had  passed,  now  he  was  secure  ;  and  feeling 
able  to  try  and  propitiate  her. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  takino;  the  paper,  Avithout  looking  at  him. 
"  I  understand." 

"  And  you  will  forgive  me,  my  Romola,  when  you  have  had 
time  to  reflect"  He  just  touched  her  brow  with  his  lips,  but 
she  took  no  notice,  and  seemed  really  unconscious  of  the  act. 

She  was  aware  that  he  unlocked  the  door  and  went  out. 
She  moved  her  head  and  listened.  The  great  door  of  the 
court  opened  and  shut  again.  She  started  up  as  if  some  sud- 
den freedom  had  come,  and  going  to  her  father's  chair  where 
his  picture  was  propped,  fell  on  her  knees  before  it,  and  burst 
into  sobs. 


202  UOMOLA. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

RALDASSAKUE  MAKES  AN  ACQUAINTANCE. 

When  Baldassarre  was  wandcrinpr  about  Florence  iti  Rer.rc4 
of  a  spare  outhouse  where  he  might  have  tlie  elieapest  ot  shel- 
it<3ved  beds,  his  steps  had  been  attracted  towards  that  sole  por- 
tion of  irround  within  the  walls  of  the  citv  which  is  not  iter- 
fectly  level,  and  where  the  s])ectator,  lifted  above  the  roofs  of 
the  houses,  can  see  beyond  the  city  to  the  i)rotecting  hills  and 
far-stretching  valley,  otherwise  shut  out  from  bis  view  except 
along  the  welcome  opening  made  by  the  course  of  the  Arno. 
Part  of  that  ground  has  been  alreatly  seen  by  us  as  the  hill  of 
Bogoli,  at  that  time  a  great  stone  quairy  ;  but  the  side  towards 
which  Baldassarre  directed  his  steps  was  the  one  that  sloped 
down  behind  the  Via  de' J>ardi,  and  was  most  commonly  called 
the  liill  of  San  (iiorgio.  Bratti  had  told  him  that  Tito's  dwell- 
ing was  in  the  Via  de'  Bardi ;  and,  after  surveying  that  stieet, 
he  turned  up  the  slope  of  the  hill  which  he  had  oljscrved  as  he 
was  crossing  the  bridge.  If  he  could  iind  a  sheltering  out- 
house on  that  hill,  he  would  bo  glad  :  he  had  now  for  some 
years  been  accustomed  to  live  with  a  broad  sky  about  him  ; 
and,  moreover,  the  narrow  passes  of  the  streets,  with  their 
strip  of  sky  above,  and  the  unknown  labyrinth  around  them, 
seemed  to  intensify  his  sense  of  loneliness  and  feeble  memory. 

The  hill  was  sjtarsely  inhabited,  and  covered  chiefly  by  gar- 
dens  ;  but  in  one  spot  was  a  piece  of  rough  ground  jagged 
witli  gfeat  stones,  which  had  never  been  cultivated  since  a 
landslip  had  ruined  some  houses  there  towards  the  end  of  the 
thirteenth  century.  Just  above  the  edge  of  tliis  broken  ground 
htood  a  (pux'r  little  square  building,  looking  like  a  truncated 
tower  roofed  in  with  fluted  tiles,  and  close  ])y  was  a  small  out- 
house, ap])arciitly  built  uj)  against  a  piece  of  ruined  stone-wall. 
Under  a  large  half-deatl  mulberry-tree  that  was  now  sending 
its  last  fluttering  leaves  in  at  the  open  door-ways,  a  shrivelled, 
hardy  old  woman  was  untying  a  goat  with  two  kids,  and  r>al- 
dassarre  coulil  see  that  part  of  tlu-  outbuilding  was  occu])ied 
by  live-stock ;  l)ut  thi'  door  of  the  other  part  was  open,  and  it 
was  empty  of  every  thing  but  some  tools  and  straw.  It  was 
lust  the  sort  of  place  he  wanted.  lie  spoke  to  the  ol«l  woman  ; 
l)Ut  it  was  not  till  he  got  close  to  her  and  shouted  in  her  ear 
that  he  succeeded  in  making  her  understand  liis  want  of  a 
lodging,  and  his  readiness  to  pay  for  it.     At  first  he  could  get 


IIOMOLA.  263 

no  answer  beyond  shakovS  of  the  head  and  the  words,  "  No — • 
no  lodging,"  uttered  in  the  muffled  tone  of  the  deaf.  But,  by 
dint  of  persistence,  he  made  clear  to  her  that  he  was  a  poor 
stranger  from  a  long  way  over  seas,  and  could  not  afford  to  go 
to  hostelries  ;  that  lie  only  wanted  to  lie  on  the  straw  in  the 
outhouse,  and  would  pay  her  a  quattrino  or  two  a  week  for 
that  shelter.  She  still  looked  at  him  dubiously,  shaking  her 
head  and  talking  low  to  herself ;  but  presently,  as  if  a  new 
thought  occurretl  to  her,  she  fetched  a  hatchet  from  the  house, 
and  showing  him  a  chump  that  lay  half  covered  with  litter  in 
a,  corner,  asked  him  if  he  would  chop  that  up  for  her :  if  he 
would,  he  might  lie  in  the  outhouse  for  one  niglit.  He  agreed, 
and  Monna  Lisa  stood  with  her  arms  akimbo  to  watch  him, 
with  a  smile  of  gratified  cunning,  saying  low  to  herself, 

"  It's  lain  there  ever  since  iv.y  old  man  died.  What  then  ? 
I  might  as  well  have  put  a  stone  on  the  fire.  He  chops  very 
well,  though  he  does  speak  with  a  foreign  tongue,  and  looks 
odd.  I  couldn't  liave  got  it  done  cheaper.  And  if  he  only 
wants  a  bit  of  straw  to  He  on,  I  might  make  him  do  an  errand 
or  two  up  and  down  the  hill.  Who  need  know  ?  And  sin 
that's  hidden  's  half  forgiven.*  lie's  a  stranger :  he'll  take 
no  notice  of  her.     And  I'll  tell  her  to  keep  her  tongue  still." 

The  antecedents  to  these  feminine  pronouns  had  a  pair  of 
blue  eyes,  which  at  that  moment  were  applied  to  a  large  rou::  I 
hole  in  the  shutter  of  the  upper  window.  The  shuttt  r  was 
closed,  not  for  any  penal  reasons,  but  because  only  the  (>/[)Osite 
window  had  the  luxury  of  glass  in  it:  the  weather  was  not 
warm,  and  a  round  hole  four  inches  in  diameter  served  all  the 
purposes  of  observation.  The  hole  was  unfortunately  a  little 
too  high,  and  obliged  the  small  observer  to  stand  on  a  low 
stool  of  a  rickety  character ;  but  Tessa  would  have  stood  a 
long  while  in  a  much  more  inconvenient  position  for  the  sake 
of  seeing  a  little  variety  in  her  life.  She  had  been  drawn  to 
the  opening  at  the  first  loud  tones  of  the  strange  voice  speak- 
ing to  Monna  Lisa;  and  darting  gently  across  her  rooiu  every 
now  and  then  to  peep  at  something,  she  continued  to  stand 
there  until  tlie  wood  had  been  chopped,  and  she  saw  Baldas- 
sarre  enter  the  outhouse,  as  the  dusk  was  gathering,  and  seat 
himself  ou  the  strav/. 

A  great  temptation  had  laid  hold  of  Tessa's  mind;  she 
would  go  and  take  that  old  man  part  of  her  supper,  and  talk 
to  him  a  little.  He  was  not  deaf  like  Monna  Lisa,  and  besides 
she  could  say  a  great  many  things  to  him  that  it  was  no  use  to 
shout  at  Monna  Lisa,  who  knew  them  already.     And  he  was  a 

*  "Pecato  celato  e  mezzo  perdonato." — Pro  v. 


264  ItOMOLA. 

str.incjcr — strnnctors  came  from  a  loiii:;  way  ofF  and  went  away 
aijain,  and  livi-d  nowliere  in  particular.  It  Mas  naughty,  she 
l^new,  for  obedience  made  the  largest  part  in  Tessa's  idea  of 
duty  ;  but  it  would  be  sometliing  to  confess  to  t]io  pddre  next 
Pascjua,  and  there  was  nothing  else  to  confess  except  going  to 
sleep  sometimes  over  her  beads,  and  being  a  little  cross  witli  Mon- 
na  Lisa  because  she  Avas  so  deaf ;  for  she  had  as  much  idleness 
as  she  liked  now,  and  was  never  frightened  into  telling  white 
lies.  She  turned  away  from  her  shutter  with  rather  an  excited 
expression  in  her  childish  face,  which  was  as  pretty  and  pouting 
as  ever.  Her  garb  was  still  that  of  a  simple  contadiiia,but  of 
a  contadina  prepared  for  a,  festa :  her  gown  of  dark-green 
serge,  with  its  red  girdle,  was  very  clean  and  neat ;  she  had 
the  string  of  red  glass  beads  round  her  neck  ;  and  her  brown 
liair,  rough  from  curliness,  was  duly  knotted  ui)  and  fastened 
with  the  silver  pin.  She  had  but  one  new  ornament,  and  she 
was  very  proud  of  it,  for  it  was  a  fine  gold  ring. 

She  sat  on  the  low  stool,  nursing  lier  knees,  for  a  mimite 
or  two,  with  her  little  soul  poised  in  tluttering  excitement  on 
the  edge  of  this  pleasant  transgression.  It  was  quite  irresisti- 
ble :  she  had  been  commanded  to  make  no  acquaintances, 
and  warned  that  if  she  did  all  her  new  ha])]»y  lot  would  vanish 
away,  and  be  like  a  hidden  treasure  that  turned  to  lead  as  soon 
as  it  was  brought  to  the  daylight;  and  she  had  been  so  obedi- 
ent that  when  she  had  to  go  to  church  she  had  kept  her  face 
shaded  by  lier  hood,  and  had  pursed  up  her  lips  quite  tightlv.  It 
was  true  her  obedience  had  been  a  little  h  jlped  by  her  own  <lread 
lest  the  alarming  step-father  Nofri  shoidd  turn  up  even  in  this 
quarter,  so  far  frotu  the  Por'  del  Prato,  an<l  beat  her  at  least, 
if  he  did  not  drag  her  back  to  work  for  him.  But  this  old 
man  was  not  an  acquaintance;  he  was  a  poor  stranger  going 
to  sleep  in  the  outhouse,  and  he  ])robably  knew  nothing  of 
stepfather  Nofri ;  and,  besides,  if  she  took  him  some  supper, 
lie  would  like  her,  and  not  want  to  tell  any  tiling  about  lier. 
Monna  Lisa  would  say  she  must  not  go  and  talk  to  him,  there- 
fore ."NFonna  Lisa  must  not  be  consulted.  It  did  not  signify 
what  she  found  out  after  it  had  been  done. 

Supper  was  being  prepared,  she  knew — a  mountain  of  mac- 
aroni flavored  with  cheese — fragrant  enough  to  tame  any 
stranger.  So  she  tripped  down  stairs  with  a  mind  full  of  deep 
designs,  and  iirst  asking  with  an  innocent  htok  what  that  noise 
of  talking  had  bi-en,  without  waiting  for  an  answer,  knit  her 
brow  with  a  ])ereinptory  air,  something  like  a  kitten  trying  to 
be  formidable,  anil  sent  the  old  wonian  upstairs  :  she  cli()se  to 
eat  her  supper  down  below.  In  three  minutes  Tessa,  with  her 
lantern  in  one  hand  and  a  wooden  bowl  of  macaroni  in  th« 


IIOMOLA.  2G5 

other,  was  kicking  gently  at  the  doox'  of  the  outhouse  ;  and 
Baldassarre,  roused  from  sad  reverie,  doubted  in  the  first  mo- 
ment whether  he  was  awake  as  he  opened  the  door  and  saw 
this  surprising  little  liandraaid,  with  delight  in  her  wide  eyes, 
breaking  in  on  his  dismal  loneliness. 

"  I've  brought  you  some  supper,"  she  said,  lifting  her  mouth 
towards  his  ear  and  shouting,  as  if  he  had  been  deaf  like  Mon 
'aa  Lisa.     "  Sit  down  and  eat  it  while  I  stay  with  you." 

Surprise  and  distrust  surmounted  every  other  feeling  in 
Baldassarre  ;  but  though  he  had  no  smile  or  word  of  gratitude 
ready,  there  could  not  be  any  impulse  to  push  away  iliis  visit- 
ant, and  he  sank  down  passively  on  his  straw  again,  Avhile  Tessa 
placed  herself  close  to  him,  put  the  wooden  bowl  on  his  lap, 
and  set  down  the  lantern  in  front  of  them,  crossing  her  hands 
before  licr,  and  nodding  at  the  bowl  with  a  significant  smile, 
as  much  as  to  say,  "  Yes,  you  may  really  eat  it."  For  in  the 
excitement  of  carrying  out  her  deed  she  had  forgotten  her 
previous  thought  that  the  stranger  would  not  be  deaf,  and  had 
fallen  into  her  habitual  alternative  of  dumb  show  and  shouting. 

The  invitation  was  not  a  disagreeable  one,  for  he  had  been 
gnawing  a  remnant  of  dried  bread,  which  had  left  plenty  of 
appetite  for  any  thing  warm  and  relishing.  Tessa  watched  the 
disappearance  of  two  or  three  mouthf uls  Avdthout  speaking,  for 
she  had  thought  his  eyes  rather  fierce  at  first;  but  now  she 
ventured  to  put  her  mouth  to  his  ear  again  and  cry — 

"  I  like  my  supper,  don't  you  ?" 

It  was  not  a  smile,  but  rather  the  milder  look  of  a  dog 
touched  by  kindness  but  unable  to  smile,  that  Baldassarre 
turned  on  this  round  blue-eyed  thing  that  was  caring  about 
him. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  ;  "  but  I  can  hear  well — I'm  not  deaf." 

"  It  is  true  ;  I  forgot,"  said  Tessa,  lifting  her  hands  and  clasj^K 
ing  them.  "But  Monna  Lisa  is  deaf,  and  I  live  with  her. 
She's  a  kind  old  woman,  and  I'm  not  frightened  at  her.  And 
we  live  very  well :  we  have  plenty  of  nice  things.  I  can  have 
nuts  if  I  like.  And  I'm  not  obliged  to  work  now.  I  used  to 
have  to  work,  and  I  didn't  like  it ;  but  I  liked  feeding  the  mules, 
and  I  should  like  to  see  poor  Giannetta,  the  little  mule,  again. 
We've  only  got  a  goat  and  two  kids,  and  I  used  to  talk  to  the 
goat  a  good  deal,  because  there  was  nobody  else  but  Monna 
Lisa.  But  now  I've  got  something  else — can  you  guess  what 
it  is?" 

She  drew  her  head  back,  and  looked  with  a  challenging 
smile  at  Baldassarre,  as  if  she  had  proposed  a  diflicult  riddle 
to  him. 

"  No,"  said  he,  putting  aside  his  bowl,  and  looking  at  her 

"12 


266  KOMOLA. 

dreamily.  It  scorned  as  if  tliis  youn<]f  prattling  thing  were 
some  memory  come  back  out  of  liis  own  youth. 

"You  like  me  to  talk  to  you,  don't  youV"  said  Tessa,  "but 
you  must  not  tell  any  body.  h>hall  I  fetch  you  a  bit  of  cold 
sausage  V 

lie  sliook  liis  head,  but  he  looked  so  mild  now  that  Tessa 
felt  quite  at  her  ease. 

"  Well,  then,  I've  got  a  little  baby.  Such  a  pretty  bambi- 
■netto,  with  little  fingers  and  nails  !  Not  old  yet ;  it  was  born 
at  the  Nativita,  Mouna  Lisa  says.  I  was  married  one  Nativi- 
tii,  a  long,  long  while  ago,  and  nobody  knew.  O  SaiUa  IVIadon- 
na  !     I  didn't  mean  to  tell  you  that  I" 

Tessa  set  up  her  shoulders  and  bit  her  lip,  looking  at  Bal- 
dassarre  as  if  this  betrayal  of  secrets  must  have  an  exciting  ef- 
fect on  him  too.  But  he  seemed  not  to  care  much  ;  and  per- 
haps that  was  in  the  nature  of  strangers. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  canying  on  her  thought  aloud,  "  you  aro 
a  stranger ;  you  don't  live  anywhere  or  know  any  body,  do 
you  V" 

"  No,"  said  Baldassarrc,  also  thiid^ing  aloud,  rather  than 
consciously  answering,  "  I  only  know  one  man." 

"  His  name  is  not  Nofri,is  it?"  said  Tessa,  anxiously. 

"  No,"  said  Baldassarrc,  noticing  her  look  of  fear.  "  Is 
that  your  husband's  name  ?" 

That  mistaken  supposition  was  very  amusing  to  Tessa. 
She  laughed  and  cla])ped  her  hands  as  she  said, 

"  No,  indeed  !  But  I  must  not  tell  you  any  thing  about  my 
husband.  You  would  never  think  what  he  is — not  at  all  like 
Nofri  !" 

She  laughed  again  at  the  delightful  incongruity  between 
the  name  of  Nofri — which  was  not  separable  from  the  idea  of 
tlie  cross-grained  step-father^ — and  the  idea  of  her  husband. 

"  Jiut  i  don't  see  him  very  often,"  she  went  on,  more  grave- 
ly. "And  sometimes  I  ])ray  to  the  Holy  Madonna  to  send 
him  oftener;  and  once  she  did.  But  I  must  go  back  to  my 
bariibhutto  now.  I'll  bring  it  to  show  you  to-morrow.  You 
would  like  to  see  it.  Sometimes  it  cries  and  makes  a  face, 
but  only  when  it's  hungry,  ]Monna  Lisa  says.  You  wouldn't 
think  it,  but  Moima  Lisa  had  babies  once,  and  they  are  all  dead 
old  men.  My  husband  says  she  Avill  never  die  now,  because 
.she's  so  well"  dried.  I'm  "glad  of  that,  for  I'm  fond  of  her. 
You  would  like  to  stay  here  to-morrow,  shouldn't  you?" 

"  I  shcMild  like  to  liave  this  ])lace  to  come  and  rest  in,  that's 
all,"  said  Baldassarre.  "1  would  pay  for  it,  and  harm  no- 
body." 

"No,  indeed  ;  T  think  you  are  not  a  bad  old  man.     But  you 


KOMOLA.  267 

look  sorry  about  something.  Tell  me,  is  there  any  thing  yon 
shall  cry  about  when  I  leave  you  by  yourself?  I  used  to  cry 
once." 

"  Xo,  cliihl ;  I  think  I  shall  cry  no  more." 

"  That's  right ;  and  I'll  bring  you  some  breakfast,  and  show 
you  the  bambino.     Gootl-night !" 

Tessa  took  up  her  bowl  and  lantern,  and  closed  the  door 
behind  her.  The  pretty  loving  apparition  had  been  no  more 
to  Ealdassarre  than  a  faint  rainbow  on  the  blackness  to  the 
man  who  is  wrestling  in  deep  waters.  He  hardly  thought  of 
her  again  till  his  dreamy  waking  passed  into  the  more  vivid 
images  of  disturbed  sleep. 

But  Tessa  thought  much  of  him.  She  had  no  sooner  en- 
tered the  house  than  she  told  Monna  Lisa  what  she  had  done, 
and  insisted  that  the  stranger  should  be  allowed  to  come  and 
rest  in  the  outhouse  when  he  liked.  The  old  woman,  who  had 
had  her  notions  of  making  him  a  useful  tenant,  made  a  great 
show  of  reluctance,  shook  her  head,  and  urged  that  Messer 
Naldo  would  be  angry  if  she  let  any  one  come  about  the 
house.  Tessa  did  not  believe  that.  Messer  Naldo  had  said 
nothing  against  strangers  who  lived  nowhere ;  and  this  old 
man  knew  nobody  except  one  person,  who  was  not  Nofri. 

"  Well,"  conceded  Monna  Lisa,  at  last,  "  if  I  let  him  stay 
for  a  while  and  carry  things  up  the  hill  for  me,  thou  must  keep 
thy  counsel  and  tell  nobody." 
*"  No,"  said  Tessa,  "I'lfonly  tell  the  bambino:' 

"  And  then,"  Monna  Lisa  went  on,  in  her  thick  under-tone, 
"  God  may  love  us  well  enough  not  to  let  Messer  Naldo  find 
out  any  thing  about  it.  For  he  never  comes  here  but  at  dark ; 
and  as  he  was  here  two  days  ago,  it's  likely  he'll  never  come 
at  all  till  the  old  man's  gone  away  again." 

"  Oh  me  !  Monna,"  said  Tessa,  clasping  her  hands,  "  I  wish 
Naldo  had  not  to  go  such  a  long,  long  way  sometimes  before 
he  comes  back  again." 

"Ah,  child,  the  world's  big,  they  say.  There  are  places 
behind  the  mountains,  and  if  people  go  night  and  day,  night 
and  day,  they  get  to  Rome,  and  see  the  Holy  Father."' 

Tessa  looked  submissive  in  the  presence  of  this  mystery, 
and  began  to  rock  her  baby  and  sing  syllables  of  vague  loving 
meaning,  in  tones  that  imitated  a  triple  chime. 

The  next  morning  she  was  unusually  industrious  in  the 
prospect  of  more  dialogue,  and  of  the  pleasure  she  should  give 
the  poor  old  stranger  by  showing  him  her  baby.  But  before 
she  could  get  ready  to  take  Baldassarre  his  breakfast  she  found 
that  Monna  Lisa  had  been  employing  him  as  a  drawer  of  water. 
She  deferred  her  paternosters,  and  hurried  down  to  insist  that 


2C8  KOMOLA. 

Baldassarro  should  sit  on  liis  straw,  so  tliat  she  mi<,'ht  come 
and  sit  by  him  again  wliile  lie  ate  his  breakfast.  'I'liat  atti- 
tude made  the  new  companionshii)  all  the  more  delightful  to 
Tessa,  for  she  had  l)een  used  to  sitting  on  straw  in  old  days 
along  with  her  goats  and  mules. 

"  I  will  not  let  Monna  Lisa  give  you  too  much  work  to  do," 
she  said,  bringing  him  some  steaming  broth  and  soft  breaiL 
"  I  don't  like  much  work,  and  I  dare  say  you  doiTt.  I  like  sit- 
ting in  the  sunshine  and  feeding  things.  Monna  Ijisa  says  work 
is  good,  but  she  does  it  all  herself,  so  I  don't  mind.  She  is  not 
a  cross  old  woman — you  needn't  be  afraid  of  her  being  cross. 
And  now  you  cat  that,  and  I'll  go  and  fetch  my  baby  and  show 
it  you." 

Presently  she  came  back  with  the  small  mummy-case  in  her 
arms.  The  mummy  looked  very  lively,  liaving  unusually  large 
dark  eyes,  though  no  more  than  the  usual  indication  of  a  fu- 
ture nose. 

"  This  is  my  baby,"  said  Tessa,  seating  herself  close  to  Bal- 
dassarre.  "You  didn't  think  it  was  so  ])retty,  did  you  ^  It 
is  like  the  little  Gesu,  and  I  should  think  the  Santa  Madonna 
would  be  kinder  to  me  now,  is  it  not  true?  Jiut  I  have  not 
much  to  ask  for,  because  I  have  every  thing  now — only  that 
I  sliould  see  my  husband  oftener.  You  may  hold  the  Iniiidtl- 
no  a  little  if  you  like,  but  I  think  you  must  not  kiss  liim,  be- 
cause you  might  liurt  him." 

She  spoke  this  prohibition  in  a  tone  of  soothing  excuse,  and 
Baldassarre  could  not  refuse  to  hold  the  small  pai-kage. 
"  Poor  thing  !  j)oor  thing  !"  he  said,  in  a  deep  voice,  which 
had  something  strangely  threatening  in  its  ajiparent  pity.  It 
did  not  seem  to  him  as  if  this  guileless  loving  little  woman 
could  recimcile  him  to  the  world  at  all,  but  rather  tliat  she 
was  with  him  against  the  world,  and  that  she  was  a  creature 
who  would  need  to  be  a\eng('d. 

"  Oh,  don't  you  be  sorry  for  me,"  she  said ;  "  for,  though 
I  don't  see  him  often,  he  is  more  beautiful  and  good  than  any 
body  else  in  the  world.  I  say  prayers  to  him  when  he's  away. 
You  couldn't  think  what  he  is  !" 

She  looked  at  Baldassarre  with  a  wide  glance  of  mysteri- 
ous meaning,  taking  the  baby  from  him  again,  and  almost 
wisliing  he  would  question  her  as  if  he  wanted  very  nauch  to 
know  more. 

"  Yes,  I  could,"  said  Baldassarre,  rather  bitterly. 

"  No,  I'm  sure  you  never  could,"  said  Tessa,  earnestly. 
"You  thought  he  might  be  Nofri,"  she  added,  with  a  triunb 
])l»ant  air  ot  conclusiveness.  '"But  never  mind;  you  couldn't 
know.     What  is  your  name  V" 


270  ROMOI.A. 

He  rubbed  liis  liaml  over  liis  knitted  brow,  then  looked  &t 
her  blankly,  ati.l  said,  "Ah,  child,  wliat  is  it  V" 

It  was  not  that  he  did  not  often  reineniber  his  name  well 
enough;  and  if  he  had  had  presence  of  mind  now  to  remem- 
ber it,  he  would  have  chosen  not  to  tell  it.  But  a  sudden 
question  appealing  to  his  memory  had  a  paralyzing  effect,  and 
in  that  moment  he  was  conscious  of  nothing  but  hel])less 

rieBS. 

Ignorant  as  Tessa  was,  the  pity  stirred  in  her  by  his  blank 
look  taught  her  to  say, 

"Never  mind;  you  are  a  stranger;  it  is  no  matter  about 
your  having  a  name.  Good-bye,  now,  because  I  want  my 
])reakfast.  You  will  come  here  and  rest  when  you  like  ;  Mon- 
na  Lisa  says  you  may.  i\nd  don't  you  be  unhapi)y,  lor  we'll 
be  good  to  you." 

"  Poor  thing  !"  said  Baldassarre  again. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

NO  PLACE  FOR   REPENTANCE. 


Messer  Naldo  came  again  sooner  than  was  expected: 
he  came  on  the  evening  of  the  twenty-ciglith  of  Novem- 
ber, only  eleven  days  after  his  previous  visit,  proving  that  he 
bad  not  gone  far  beyond  the  mountains  ;  and  a  scene  which  we 
have  witnessed  as  it  took  ))ltice  that  evening  in  the  ^'ia  de' 
Bardi  may  helj)  to  exjjlain  the  impulse  which  turned  his  steps 
towards  the  hill  of  San  Giorgio. 

When  Tito  had  first  foimd  this  home  for  Tessa,  on  his  re- 
turn from  liome,  more  than  a  year  and  a  half  ago,  he  had 
acted,  he  persuaded  himself,  simply  under  the  constraint  im- 
posed on  him  by  his  own  kimllint'ss  after  (he  unlucky  incident 
which  had  made  foolish  little  Tessa  imagine  him  to  be  her 
}msl>and.  It  was  true  that  the  kindness  was  manifested  to- 
wards  a  pretty,  trusting  thing,  whom  it  was  impossible  to  be 
near  without  feeling  inclined  to  caress  and  ])et  her;  but  it  was 
not  less  tnu'  that  Tito  had  movements  of  kimlncss  towards  her 
apart  from  any  contemplated  gain  to  himself.  Otherwise, 
cluirming  as  her  ))rettiness  and  ])rattle  were  in  a  la/y  moment, 
he  might  have  preferred  to  be  free  from  her  ;  for  he  was  not  in 
love  with  Tessa— he  was  in  love,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life, 
with  an  entirely  different  woman,  whom  he  was  not  simply 
inclined  to  shower  caresses  on,  but  whose  presence  possessed 
him  so  that  the  simple  sweep  of  her  long  tresses  across  hia 


EOMOLA.  271 

cheek  seemed  to  vibrate  through  tho  hours.  All  the  ycanj^ 
ideal  passion  he  had  in  him  had  been  stirred  by  Romola,  and 
his  fibre  was  too  fine,  his  intellect  too  bright,  for  him  to  be 
tempted  into  the  habits  of  a  gross  pleasure-seeker.  But  he 
Had  spun  a  vveb  about  himself  and  Tessa,  which  he  felt  inca- 
pable of  breaking  :  in  the  first  moments  after  the  mimic  mar- 
riage he  had  been  prompted  to  leave  her  under  an  illusion  by 
a  distinct  calculation  of  his  own  possible  need,  but  since  that 
critical  moment  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  web  had  gone  on 
spinning  in  spite  of  him,  like  a  growth  over  which  he  had  no 
power.  The  elements  of  kindness  and  self-indulgence  are  hard 
to  distinguish  in  a  soft  nature  like  Tito's  ;  and  the  annoyance 
he  had  felt  under  Tessa's  pursuit  of  him  on  the  day  of  his  be- 
trothal, the  thorough  intention  of  revealing  the  truth  to  her 
with  which  he  set  out  to  fulfill  his  promise  of  seeing  her  again, 
were  a  sufliciently  strong  argument  to  him  that,  in  ultimately 
leaving  Tessa  under  her  illusion,  and  providing  a  home  for  her, 
he  had  been  overcome  by  his  own  kindness.  And  in  these 
days  of  his  first  devotion  to  Romola  he  needed  a  self-justify- 
ing argument.  He  had  learned  to  be  glad  that  she  Avas  de- 
ceived about  some  things.  But  every  strong  feeling  makes 
to  itself  a  conscience  of  its  own — has  its  own  piety:  just  as 
much  as  the  feeling  of  the  son  towards  the  mother,  which  will 
sometimes  survive  amidst  the  worst  fumes  of  depravation ; 
and  Tito  could  not  yet  be  easy  in  committing  a  secret  offense 
against  his  wedded  love. 

But  he  was  all  the  more  careful  in  taking  precautions  to 
preserve  the  secrecy  of  the  offense.  Monna  Lisa,  Avho,  like 
many  of  her  class,  never  left  her  habitation  except  to  go  to 
one  or  two  particular  shops,  and  to  confession  once  a  year, 
knew  nothing  of  his  real  name  and  whereabout :  she  only  knew 
that  he  paid  her  so  as  to  make  her  very  comfortable,  and  mind- 
ed little  about  the  rest,  save  that  she  got  fond  of  Tessa,  and 
liked  the  cares  for  which  she  was  paid.  There  was  some 
mystery  behind,  clearly,  since  Tessa  was  a  contadina,  and  Mes- 
ser  Naldo  was  a  signor  ;  but,  for  aught  Monna  Lissa  knew,  he 
might  be  a  real  husband.  For  Tito  had  thoroughly  frighten- 
ed Tessa  into  silence  about  the  circumstances  of  their  mar- 
riage, by  telling  her  that  if  she  broke  that  silence  she  would 
never  see  him  again  ;  and  Monna  Lisa's  deafness,  which  made 
it  impossible  to  say  any  thing  to  her  without  some  pi'emedita- 
tion,  had  saved  Tessa  from  any  incautious  revelation  to  her, 
such  as  had  run  off  her  tongue  in  talking  with  Baldassarre. 
And  for  a  long  while  Tito's  visits  were  so  rare,  that  it  seemed 
likely  enough  he  took  journeys  between  them.  They  were 
prompted  chiefly  by  the  desire  to  see  that  all  things  were  go* 


272  KOMOLA. 

ing  on  well  with  Tessa  ;  and  thougli  lie  always  found  his  vi8« 
it  pleasanter  than  the  prospect  of  it — always  felt  anew  the 
charm  oi  that  j)rclty,  iuiiorant  lovingnoss  and  trust — he  liad 
not  yet  any  real  need  ot  it.  JJut  he  was  determined,  if  jtossi- 
ble,  to  ]>reserve  the  simplicity  on  which  the  charm  depended  ; 
to  keep  Tessa  a  genuine  eontadiua,  and  not  jdace  the  small  tield- 
iiower  among  conditions  that  would  rob  it  of  its  grace.  He 
would  have  been  shocked  to  see  her  in  the  dress  of  any  other 
rank  than  her  own  ;  tlie  piquancy  of  her  talk  would  be  all  gone 
if  things  began  to  have  new  relations  for  her,  if  her  world  be- 
came wider,  her  j)leasures  less  childish ;  and  the  scjuirrel-liko 
enjoyment  of  nuts  at  discretion  marked  the  standard  of  the 
luxuries  he  ])rovided  for  her.  By  this  means  Tito  saved  Tes- 
sa's charm  from  being  sullied  ;  and  he  also,  by  a  convenient 
coincidence,  saveil  himself  from  aggravating  expenses  that 
were  already  rather  importunate  to  a  man  wliose  money  was 
all  required  for  his  avowed  habits  of  life. 

This,  in  brief,  had  been  the  history  of  Tito's  relation  to 
Tessa  up  to  a  very  recent  day.  It  is  true  that  once  or  twice 
before  Bardo's  death  the  sense  that  there  was  Tessa  up  the 
hill,  with  whom  it  was  possible  to  ]:»ass  an  hour  agreeably,  had 
been  an  indu(;cment  to  him  to  escape  from  a  little  weariness 
of  the  old  man,  when,  for  lack  of  any  positive  engagement,  ho 
might  otherwise  have  borne  the  weariness  patiently  and  shared 
Komohfs  burden.  But  the  moment  when  he  had  iirst  felt  a 
real  hunger  for  Tessa's  ignorant  lovingness  and  belief  in  him 
had  not  come  till  quite  lately,  and  it  was  distinctly  marked 
out  by  circumstances  as  little  to  Vie  forgotten  as  the  oncoming 
of  a  malady  that  has  permanently  vitiated  the  sight  and  hear- 
ing. It  "was  the  day  when  he  had  first  seen  Baldassarre,  and 
had  bought  the  armor.  Keturnitig  across  the  bridge  that 
night,  with  the  coat  of  mail  in  his  hands,  lie  had  felt  an 
unconquerable  shrinking  from  an  immediate  encounter  with 
liomola.  She,  too,  knew  little  of  the  actual  world ;  she,  too, 
trusted  him  ;  but  he  had  an  uneasy  consciousness  that  behind 
her  frank  eyes  there  was  a  nature  that  could  judge  him,  and 
\  f  that  any  ill-founded  trust  of  hers  sprang  not  from  ])retty  brute- 
like  incapacity,  but  from  a  nobleness  which  miglit  jirove  an 
alarming  touchstone.  He  wanted  a  little  ease,  a  little  repose 
from  self-control,  after  the  agitation  and  exertions  of  the  day; 
hr  wanted  to  be  where  ho  could  adjust  his  mind  to  the  mor- 
T()\y,  without  caring  how  he  b('have<l  at  the  jiresent  moment. 
And  there  was  a  sweet  adoring  creature  within  reach  whose 
presence  was  as  safe  and  unconstraining  as  that  of  her  own 
kids — who  would  believe  any  fable,  and  remain  quite  unim- 
pressed by  public  opinion.     And  so  on  that  evening,  when* 


KOMOLA.  2*73 

Romola  was  waiting  and  listening  for  him,  he  turned  his  steps 
up  the  hill. 

No  wonder,  then,  that  the  steps  took  the  same  course  on 
this  evening,  eleven  days  later,  when  he  had  had  to  recoil  un- 
der Romola's  first  outburst  ot'scorn.  He  could  not  wish  Tessa 
in  his  wife's  place,  or  refrain  from  wishing  that  his  wife  should 
be  thoroughly  reconciled  to  him  ;  for  it  was  Romola,  and  not 
Tessa,  that  belonged  to  the  world  where  all  the  larger  desires 
of  a  man  who  had  ambition  and  effective  faculties  must  neces- 
sarily lie.  But  he  wanted  a  refuge  from  a  standard  disagree- 
ably rigorous,  of  which  he  could  not  make  himself  indepen- 
dent simply  by  thinking  it  folly;  and  Tessa's  little  soul  was 
that  inviting  refuge. 

It  was  not  much  more  than  eight  o'clock  when  he  went  up 
the  stone  steps  to  the  door  of  Tessa's  room.  Usually  she  heard 
his  entrance  into  the  house,  and  ran  to  meet  him,  but  not  to- 
night ;  and  when  he  opened  the  door  he  saw  the  reason.  A 
single  dim  light  was  burning  above  the  dying  fire,  and  showed 
Tessa  in  a  kneeling  attitude  by  the  head  of  the  bed  where  the 
baby  lay.  Her  head  had  fallen  aside  on  the  pillow,  and  her 
brown  rosary,  which  usually  hung  above  the  pillow  over  the 
picture  of  the  Madonna  and  the  golden  palm-branches,  lay  in 
the  loose  grasp  of  her  right  hand.  She  had  gone  fast  asleep 
over  her  beads.  Tito  stepped  lightly  across  the  little  room, 
and  sat  down  close  to  her.  She  had  probably  heard  the  open- 
ing of  the  door  as  part  of  lier  dream,  for  he  had  not  been 
looking  at  her  two  moments  before  she  opened  her  eyes.  She 
opened  them  without  any  start,  and  remained  quite  motion- 
less looking  at  him,  as  if  the  sense  that  he  was  there  smiling 
at  her  shut  out  any  impulse  which  could  disturb  tliat  happy 
passiveness.  But  when  he  put  his  hand  under  her  chin,  and 
stooped  to  kiss  her,  she  said  : 

"I  dreamed  it, and  then  I  said  it  was  dreaming — and  then 
I  awoke,  and  it  was  true." 

"Little  sinner!"  said  Tito,  pinching  her  chin,  "  you  have 
not  said  half  your  prayers.  I  will  punish  you  by  not  looking 
at  your  baby  ;  it  is  ugly." 

Tessa  did  not  like  those  w'ords,  even  though  Tito  was  smil' 
ing.  She  had  some  pouting  distress  in  her  face  as  she  said, 
bending  anxiously  over  the  baby, 

"  Ahj.it  is  not  true.  He  is  prettier  than  any  thing.  You 
do  not  think  he  is  ugly.  You  will  look  at  him.  He  is  even 
prettier  than  when  you  saw  him  before — only  he's  asleep,  and 
you  can't  see  his  eyes  or  his  tongue,  and  I  can't  show  you  his 
hair  —  and  it  grows  —  isn't  that  wonderful?  Look  at  him! 
It's  true  his  face  is  very  much   all  alike  when  he's  asleep; 

12* 


2T4  KOMOLA. 

there  is  not  so  mncli  to  sec  as  when  he's  awnkc.  If  you  kiss 
him  very  gently  he  Mon't  wake  :  you  want  to  kiss  liini,  is  it 
not  tiMU"  ?" 

He  satisfied  111  r  liy  ,t,'i\  iiii^  the  small  mummy  a  butterfly-kiss, 
and  tlien,  putting  his  haml  on  her  shoulder  anil  tnniing  her  face 
towards  1dm,  said,  ■■'  You  like  looking  at  the  hah)  better  than 
looking  at  your  husband,  you  false  one  !" 

She  was  still  kneeling,  and  now  rested  licr  hands  on  liis  knee, 
looking  uj)  at  him  like  one  of  Fra  LippoLippi's  round-cheeked 
adoring  angels. 

"  No,"  she  said,  sliaking  her  head  ;  "  I  love  you  always  best, 
only  I  want  you  to  look  at  the  bambino  and  love  him  ;  I  used 
only  to  want  yt)u  to  love  me." 

"And  did"  you  expect  me  to  come  again  so  soon?"  said 
Tito,  inclined  to  make  her  prattle.  He  still  felt  the  effects  of 
the  agitation  he  had  undergone,  still  felt  like  a  m:in  who  has 
been  violently  jarred,  and  this  was  the  easiest  relief  from  silence 
and  solitiule. 

"Ah  no,"  said  Tessa,  "I  have  counted  the  days — to-day  I 
began  at  my  right  thumb  again — since  you  ])ut  on  the  beauti- 
ful chain  coat,  that  Mcsser  Saint  Michael  gave  you  to  take  care 
of  you  on  your  journey.  And  you  have  got  it  on  now,"  she 
said,  ))eeping  through  the  opening  in  the  breast  of  his  tunic. 
"  Perhaps  it  made  vou  come  l)ack  sooner." 

"Perhaps  it  did,  Tessa,"  he  said.  "But  don't  mind  the 
coat  now.  Tell  me  what  has  happened  since  I  was  here.  Did 
you  see  the  tents  in  tlie  Pnito,  and  the  soldiers  and  horsemen 
when  they  passed  the  bridges — did  you  hear  the  drums  and 
trumjjcts  ?" 

"Yes,  and  I  was  rather  frightened,  because  I  thouglit  the 
soldiers  might  come  up  here.  Aiul  Monna  T.isa  was  a  little 
afraid  ti>o,  for  she  said  they  might  carry  our  kids  off  ;  she  said 
it  was  their  business  to  do  mischief.  J5ut  the  Holy  ^ladouna 
took  care  of  us,  for  we  never  saw  one  of  them  iip  here.  r>ut 
something  has  haj)pened,  only  I  hardly  dare  tell  you,  and  that 
is  what  I  was  saying  more  avcs  for." 

"What  do  you  mean, Tessa?"  said  Tito, rather  anxiously. 
"  Make  haste  an<l  tell  me." 

"  Yes,  ])ut  will  you  let  me  sit  on  your  knee?  because  then 
I  think  I  shall  not  be  so  frightened." 

He  took  her  on  his  knee,  and  ]uit  his  arm  round  her,  but 
looked  grave  :  it  seemed  that  something  unpleasant  must  pur- 
sue him  even  here. 

"At  first,  I  didiTt  mean  to  tell  yon,"  said  Tessa,  speaking 
(ilmost  in  a  whisper,  as  if  that  would  mitigate  the  oiTense ; 
"  because  we  thought  the  old  man  would  be  gone  away  before 


ROMOLA.  275 

you  came  again,  and  it  would  be  as  if  it  had.  not  been.  But 
now  he  is  there,  and  you  ai-e  come,  and  I  never  did  any  thing 
you  told  me  not  to  do  before.  And  I  want  to  tell  you,  and 
then  you  will  perhaps  forgive  me,  for  it  is  a  long  while  before 
I  go  to  confession," 

""  Yes,  tell  me  every  thing,  my  Tessa."     He  began  to  hope 
it  was,  after  all,  a  trivial  matter. 

"  Oh,  you  will  be  sorry  for  him  :  I'm  afraid  he  cries  about 
something  when  I  don't  see  him.  But  that  was  not  the  reason 
I  went  to  see  him  first ;  it  was  because  I  wanted  to  talk  to  him 
and  show  him  my  baby,  and  he  was  a  stranger  tliat  lived  no- 
where, and  I  thought  you  wouldn't  care  so  much  about  my 
talking  to  him.  And  I  think  he  is  not  a  bad  old  man,  and  he 
wanted  to  come  and  sleep  on  the  straw  next  to  the  goats,  and 
I  made  Monna  Lisa  say, '  Yes,  he  might,'  and  he's  away  all  the 
day  almost,  but  when  he  comes  back,  I  talk  to  him,  and  take 
him  something  to  eat." 

"  Some  beggar,  I  suppose.  It  was  naughty  of  you,  Tessa, 
and  I  am  angry  with  Monna  Lisa.  I  must  have  him  sent 
away." 

"No, I  think  he  is  not  a  beggar, for  he  wanted  to  pay 
Monna  Lisa,  only  she  asked  him  to  do  work  for  her  instead. 
And  he  gets  himself  shaved,  and  his  clothes  are  tidy :  Monna 
Lisa  says  he  is  a  decent  man.  But  sometimes  I  think  he  is 
not  in  his  right  mind.  Lupo,  at  Peretola,  was  not  in  his  right 
mind :  and  he  looks  a  little  like  Lupo  sometimes,  as  if  he  didn't 
know  where  he  was." 

"  What  sort  of  face  has  he  ?"  said  Tito,  his  heart  beginning 
to  beat  strangely.  He  was  so  haunted  by  the  thought  of  Bal- 
dassarre,  that  it  was  already  he  whom  he  saw  in  imagination 
sittincf  on  the  straw  not  many  yards  from  him.  "  Fetch  your 
stool,  my  Tessa,  and  sit  on  it. 

"  Shall  you  not  forgive  me  ?"  she  said,  timidly,  moving  from 
his  knee. 

"  Yes,  I  will  not  be  angry — only  sit  down,  and  tell  me  what 
sort  of  old  man  this  is." 

"  I  can't  think  how  to  tell  you  :  he  is  not  like  ray  step-father, 
Nof ri,  or  any  body.  His  face  is  yellow,  and  he  has  deep  marks 
in  it ;  and  his  hair  is  white,  but  there  is  none  on  the  top  of  his 
head:  and  his  eyebrows  are  black,  and  he  looks  from  under 
them  at  me,  and  says, '  Poor  thing !'  to  me,  as  if  he  thought  I 
was  beaten  as  I  used  to  be ;  and  that  seems  as  if  he  couldn't 
be  in  his  right  mind,  doesn't  it?  And  I  asked  him  his  name 
once,  but  he  couldn't  tell  it  me  :  yet  every  body  has  a  name — 
is  it  not  true  ?  And  he  has  a  book  now,  and  keeps  looking  at 
it  ever  so  long,  as  if  he  were  a  padre.     But  I  think  he  is  not 


276  ROMOLA. 

eayinf^  prayers,  for  his  lips  never  move;  ah,  yoii  nro  aiigrj 
with  me,  or  is  it  because  you  are  sorry  for  the  old  man  ?" 

Tito's  eyes  were  still  fixed  on  Tessa;  but  he  had  ceased  to 
Bee  her,  and  was  only  seeing  the  objects  lier  words  suggested. 
It  was  this  absent  glance  which  frightened  lier,  and  she  could 
not  help  going  to  kneel  at  his  side  again.  But  he  did  not  heed 
her,  and  she  dared  not  touch  liini,  or  speak  to  him:  she  knelt, 
trembling  and  wondering ;  and  this  state  of  mind  suLCgestinf 
her  beads  to  her,  she  took  them  from  the  floor,  and  hogan  to 
tell  them  again,  her  jiretty  lips  moving  silently,  and  her  blue 
eyes  wide  with  anxiety  and  struLrLrlinrr  tears. 

Tito  was  quite  unconscious  of  lier  movements — unconscious 
of  liis  own  attitude:  he  was  in  that  rapt  state  in  wliich  a  man 
will  grasj)  ])ainful  roughness,  and  ]iress,  and  ])ress  it  closer,  and 
never  feel  it.  A  new  possibility  had  risen  before  him,  which 
might  dissolve  at  once  the  wretched  conditions  of  fear  and 
suppression  that  were  mari'ing  his  life.  Destiny  had  brought 
within  his  reach  an  opportunity  of  retrieving  that  moment  on 
the  steps  of  the  Duoino,  when  the  Past  had  grasped  him  with 
living  quivering  hands,  and  he  had  disowned  it.  A  few  steps, 
and  he  might  be  face  to  face  with  his  father,  with  no  witness 
by  ;  lie  might  seek  forgiveness  and  reconciliation  ;  and  there 
was  money  now,  from  the  sale  of  the  library,  to  enable  them 
to  leave  Floreiico  without  disclosure,  and  go  into  southern  Italy 
where,  under  the  probable  French  rule,  he  had  already  laid  a 
foundation  for  patronage.  Ilomola  need  never  know  the 
whole  truth,  for  she  could  liave  no  certain  means  of  identify- 
ing that  ])risoner  in  the  Duomo  with  Baldassarro,  or  of  learn- 
ing what  had  taken  place  on  the  stei)s,  except  from  JJaldassarrc 
liimself;  and  if  his  father  forgave,  he  would  also  consent  to 
bury,  th:it  offense.  But  with  this  ])ossibility  of  relief,  by  an 
easy  spring,  from  present  evil,  there  rose  the  other  possibility, 
that  the  tierce-hearted  man  might  refuse  to  be  proi)itiated. 
Well,  and  if  he  did,  things  would  only  be  as  they  liad  been  be- 
fore ;  for  there  would  l)e  no  wit/icss  h)/.  It  was  not  repentance 
with  a  white  sheet  round  it  and  taper  in  hand,  confessing  its 
hated  sin  in  the  eyes  of  men,  that  Tito  was  prejiaring  for:  it 
was  a  repentance  that  would  make  all  things  pleasant  again, 
Hnd  keep  all  past  unpleasant  things  secret.  And  Tito's  soft- 
lieartedntss,  his  indisposition  to  feel  himself  in  harsh  relations 
with  any  creature,  was  in  strong  activity  towards  his  father, 
niiw  liis  father  was  brought  near  to  him.  It  Avould  ])e  a  state 
/)f  ease  that  his  nature  could  not  but  desire,  if  that  j)oisonoua 
hatred  in  Baldassarre's  glance  could  be  replaced  by  something 
of  the  old  affection  and  complacency.  Tito  longed  to  have  his 
world  once  again  com])letely  cusliioned  with  good-will,  and 


ROMOLA.  277 

longed  for  it  the  more  eagerly  because  of  what  he  had  just 
suffered  from  the  collision  with  Romola.  It  was  not  difficult 
to  him  to  smile  pleadingly  on  those  whom  he  had  injured,  and 
offer  to  do  them  much  kindness  :  and  no  quickness  of  intellect 
could  tell  him  exactly  the  taste  of  that  honey  on  the  lips  of  the 
injured.  The  opportunity  was  there,  and  it  raised  an  inclina- 
tion which  hemmed  in  the  calculating  activity  of  his  thought. 
He  started  up,  and  stepj^ed  towards  the  door ;  but  Tessa's  cry, 
as  she  dropped  her  beads,  roused  him  from  his  absorption. 
He  turned  and  said, 

"  My  Tessa,  get  me  a  lantern ;  and  don't  cry,  Uttle  pigeon,  I 
am  not  angry." 

They  went  down  the  stairs,  and  Tessa  was  going  to  shout 
the  need  of  the  lantern  in  Monna  Lisa's  ear,  when  Tito,  who 
had  ojiened  the  door,  said, "  Stay,  Tessa — no,  I  want  no  lantern : 
go  up  stairs  again,  and  keep  quiet,  and  say  nothing  to  Monna 
Lisa." 

In  half  a  minute  he  stood  before  the  closed  door  of  the  out- 
house, where  the  moon  was  shining  white  on  the  old  paintless 
wood. 

In  this  last  decisive  moment  Tito  felt  a  tremor  upon  him— 
a  sudden  instinctive  shrinkhig  from  a  possible  tiger-glance,  a 
possible  tiger-leap.  Yet  Avhy  should  he,  a  young  man,  be 
afraid  of  an  old  one  ?  a  young  man  with  armor  on,  of  an  old 
man  without  a  weapon  ?  It  was  but  a  moment's  hesitation, 
and  Tito  laid  his  hand  on  the  door.  Was  his  father  asleep  ? 
Was  there  nothing  else  but  the  door  that  screened  him  from 
the  voice  and  the  glance  which  no  magic  could  turn  into  ease  ? 

Baldassarre  was  not  asleep.  There  Avas  a  square  opening 
liigh  in  the  walls  of  the  hovel,  through  Avhich  the  moonbeams 
sent  in  a  stream  of  pale  light :  and  if  Tito  could  have  looked 
through  the  opening,  he  would  have  seen  his  father  sealed  on 
the  straw,  with  something  that  shone  like  a  white  star  in  his 
hand.  Baldassarre  was  feeling  the  edge  of  his  poniard,  taking 
refuge  in  that  sensation  from  a  hopeless  blank  of  thought  that 
seemed  to  lie  like  a  great  gulf  between  his  passion  and  its  aim. 
He  was  in  one  of  his  most  wretched  moments  of  conscious 
helplessness  :  he  had  been  poring  while  it  was  light,  over  the 
book  that  lay  open  beside  him  ;  then  he  had  been  trying  tore- 
fall  the  names  of  his  jewels,  and  the  symbols  engraved  on  them ; 
and  though  at  certain  other  times  he  had  recovered  some  of 
those  names  and  symbols,  to-night  they  were  all  gone  into 
darkness.  And  this  effort  at  inward  seeing  had  seemed  to  end 
in  utter  paralysis  of  memory.  He  was  reduced  to  a  sort  of 
mad  consciousness  that  he  was  a  solitary  pulse  of  just  rage  in 
a  world  filled  with  defjdng  baseness.     He  had  clutched  and 


278  ROM  OLA. 

iinslioathe<l  Ins  dagger,  and  for  a  long  while  had  been  feeling 
its  edge,  his  niiiul  narrowed  to  one  inuigo,  and  the  dream  of 
one  sensation — tlie  sensation  of  j)hnigiiig  that  dagger  into  a 
base  heai't,  which  he  was  nnaljlu  to  pierce  in  any  other 
way. 

Tito  had  his  hand  on  the  door  and  was  ))ulling  it:  it  drag- 
ged against  the  groniid  as  sucli  oM  tloors  often  do,  and  Bah 
dissarre,  startled  ont  of  his  dream-like  state,  rose  from  his  sit- 
ting posture  in  vague  amazement,  not  knowing  where  he  was. 
ill'  hail  not  yet  risen  to  his  feet,  and  was  still  kneeling  on  one 
knee,  when  the  door  came  wide  open,  and  he  saw,  dark  against 
the  moonlight,  Avith  the  rays  falling  on  one  bright  mass  of 
curls  and  one  rounil  olive  cheek,  the  image  of  his  reverie — not 
shadowy — close  and  re:d  like  water  at  the  Ii])S  after  the  thirsty 
dream  of  it.  No  thought  could  come  athwart  that  eager  thirst. 
In  one  moment,  before  Tito  could  start  back,  the  old  man,  with 
the  ])reternatural  force  of  rage  in  his  limbs,  had  sprimg  for- 
ward and  the  dagger  had  Hashed  out.  In  the  next  moment 
the  dagger  had  snapped  in  two,  and  Baldassarre,  imder  the 
parrying  force  of  Tito's  arm,  had  fallen  back  on  the  straw, 
clutching  the  hilt  with  its  bit  of  broken  blade.  Tiie  pointed 
end  lay  shining  against  Tito's  feet. 

Tito  had  felt  one  great  heart-leap  of  terror  as  he  had  stag- 
gered under  the  weight  of  the  thrust:  he  felt  now  the  triiun))li 
of  deliverance  and  safety.  His  armor  had  been  proved,  and 
vengeance  lay  helpless  before  him.  But  the  triumph  raised  no 
devilish  impulse;  on  the  contrary,  the  sight  of  hisfatlier  close 
to  him  and  unable  to  injure  him,  made  the  effort  at  reconcilia- 
tion easier.  He  was  free  from  fear,  but  he  had  only  the  more 
unmixed  and  direct  want  to  be  free  from  the  sense  that  he  was 
hated.  After  they  had  looked  at  each  other  a  little  while,  Bal- 
dassarre Iving  motionless  iti  despairing  rage,  Tito  said  in  his 
*i()ft  tones,  just  as  they  had  sounded  before  the  lastjjarting  on 
tjie  shores  of  Greece, 

^^ Padre  mlor  There  "was  a  pause  after  those  words,  but 
no  movement  or  sound  till  he  said, 

-'  I  came  to  ask  your  forgiveness  !" 

Again  he  paused,  that  the  healing  balm  of  those  words 

n:glit  have  time  to  work.     But  there  was  no  sign  of  change 

in  Baldassarri' ;  he  lay  as  he  had  fallen,  li'aning  on  one  arm : 

lie  was  trembling,  but  it  was  from  the  shock  that  had  thrown 

liim  down. 

"  I  was  taken  by  surprise  that  morning,  I  wish  now  to  be 
a  son  to  you  again.  I  wish  to  make  the  rest  of  your  life  hap- 
py, that  you  may  forget  what  you  have  suffered." 

He  paused  again.     He  had  used  the  cJearest  and  strong* 


ROMOLA.  279 

est  words  he  could  think  of.  It  was  useless  to  saj  more  un- 
til he  had  some  sign  that  Baldassarre  understood  liim.  Per- 
haps his  mind  was  too  distempered  or  too  imbecile  even  for 
that ;  perhaps  the  shock  of  his  fall  and  his  disappointed  rage 
might  have  quite  suspended  the  use  of  his  faculties. 

Presently  Baldassarre  began  to  move.  He  threw  away  the 
broken  dagger,  and  slowly  and  gradually,  still  trembling,  be- 
gan to  raise  himself  fi-om  the  ground.  Tito  put  out  hishand 
to  help  him,  and  so  strangely  quick  are  men's  souls  that  in 
this  moment,  when  he  began  to  feel  his  atonement  was  accept- 
ed, he  had  a  darting  thought  of  the  irksome  efforts  it  entail- 
ed. Baldassarre  clutched  the  hand  that  was  held  out,  raised 
himself  and  clutched  it  still,  going  close  up  to  Tito  till  their 
faces  were  not  a  foot  off  each  other.  Then  he  began  to  speak, 
in  a  deep,  trembling  voice : 

"  I  saved  you — 1  nurtured  you — I  loved  you.  You  forsook 
me — you  robbed  me — you  denied  me.  What  can  you  give 
me  ?  You  have  made  the  Avorld  bitterness  to  me ;  but  there 
IS  one  drauglit  of  sweetness  left — that  you  shall  know  agony." 

He  let  fall  Tito's  hand,  and  going  backward  a  little,  first 
rested  his  arm  on  a  projecting  stone  in  the  wall,  and  then  sank 
again  in  a  sitting  posture  on  the  straw.  The  outleap  of  fury 
in  the  dagger-thrust  had  evidently  exhausted  him. 

Tito  stood  silent.  If  it  had  been  a  deep  yearning  emotion 
which  had  brought  him  to  ask  his  father's  forgiveness,  the  de- 
nial of  it  might  have  caused  him  a  pang  which  would  have 
excluded  the  rushing  train  of  thought  that  followed  those  de- 
cisive words.  As  it  was,  though  the  sentence  of  xmchangea- 
ble  hatred  grated  on  him  and  jarred  him  terribly,  his  mind 
glanced  round  with  a  self-preserving  instinct  to  see  how  far 
those  words  could  have  the  force  of  a  substantial  threat. 
When  he  had  come  down  to  speak  to  Baldassarre  he  had  said 
to  himself  that  if  his  effort  at  reconciliation  failed,  things 
would  only  be  as  they  had  been  before.  The  fii-st  glance  of 
his  mind  was  backward  to  that  thought  again,  but  the  future 
possibilities  of  danger  that  were  conjured  up  along  with  it 
brought  the  perception  that  things  were  owt  as  they  had  been 
before,  and  the  perception  came  as  a  triumphant  relief.  There 
was  not  only  the  broken  dagger — there  was  the  certainty  from 
what  Tessa  had  told  him  that  Baldassarre's  mind  was  broken 
too,  and  had  no  edge  that  could  reach  him,  Tito  felt  he  had 
no  clioice  now.  He  must  defy  Baldassarre  as  a  mad,  imbecile 
old  man ;  and  the  chances  were  so  strongly  on  his  side  that 
there  was  hardly  room  for  fear.  No,  except  the  fear  of  hav- 
ing to  do  many  xmpleasant  things  in  order  to  save  himseli 
from  what  was  yet  more  unpleasant.     And  one  of  those  un< 


280  ROMOLA. 

j)leasr;nt  things  must  be  done  immediately :  it  was  very  diiB- 
cult. 

"Do  you  tiu'iiu  to  stay  hereV"  lie  said. 

"  No,"  said  Baldassarre,  bitterly ;  "  you  mean  to  turn  me 
out." 

"  Not  so,"  said  Tito.     "  I  only  asked." 

"  I  tell  vou  vou  liave  turned  me  out.  If  it  is  your  straw, 
you  turned  mo  oft"  it  three  years  ago." 

"Then  you  mean  to  leave  this  place  ?"  said  Tito,  luore  anx- 
ious about)-  this  certainty  than  tlie  ground  of  it. 

"I  have  spoken,"  said  JJuldassarre. 

Tito  turned  and  re-entered  the  house.  Monna  Lisa  was 
nodding,  lie  went  up  to  Tessa,  and  found  her  crying  by  the 
side  of  her  baby. 

"  Tessa,"  he  said,  sitting  down,  and  taking  her  head  between 
his  liands.     "Leave  off  crying,  little  goose,  and  listen  to  mo." 

He  lifted  her  chin  upward  tliat  she  might  Took  at  him, 
while  he  spoke  very  distinctly  and  emphatically. 

"  You  nmst  never  speak  to  that  old  man  again.  lie  is  a 
mad  old  man,  and  he  wants  to  kill  rae.  Never  speak  to  him 
or  listen  to  him  again."  * 

Tessa's  tears  had  ceased,  and  her  lips  were  pale  with  fright. 

"  Is  he  gone  away  ?"  she  whispered. 

"  He  will  go  away.     Remember  what  I  have  said  to  you.'* 

"  Yes ;  I  will  never  s})eak  to  a  stranger  any  more,"  said 
Tessa,  with  a  sense  of  guilt. 

He  told  her,  to  comfort  her,  that  he  would  come  again  to- 
morrow, anil  then  went  down  to  ]Monna  Lisa  to  rebuke  lier 
severely  foi-  letting  a  dangerous  man  come  about  the  house. 

Tito  felt  that  these  were  odious  tasks;  they  were  very 
evil-tasted  morsels,  but  they  were  forced  ujion  him.  He  heard 
jVIonna  Lisa  fasten  the  door  behind  him,  and  turned  away, 
without  looking  towards  the  open  door  of  the  hovel.  He  felt 
secure  that  IJaldassarre  would  go,  and  he  could  not  wait  to 
Bee  him  go.  Kvvu  /lis  young  frame  and  elastic  spirit  wore 
shattered  by  the  agitations  that  had  been  crowded  into  this 
single  evening. 

Baldassarre  was  still  sitting  on  the  straw  when  the  shadow 
of  Tito  passed  by.  JJefore  liim  lay  the  fragments  of  the  bio- 
ken  dagger;  beside  him  lay  the  open  book,  over  which  ho 
had  pored  in  vain.  They  looked  like  mocking  symbols  of  his 
utter  helplessness;  and  his  body  was  still  too  trembling  for 
him  to  rise  and  walk  away. 

But  the  next  morning,  very  early,  when  Tessa  peeped  anx- 
iously through  the  hole  iu  her  shutter,  the  door  of  the  hovel 
was  open,  and  the  strange  old  man  was  gone. 


ROMOLA.  281 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

WHAT  FLORENCE  WAS  THINKING  OF. 

For  several  days  Tito  saw  little  of  Romola.  He  told  her 
gently,  the  next  morning,  that  it  would  bo  better  for  her  to 
remove  any  small  articles  of  her  own  from  the  library,  as  there 
would  be  agents  coming  to  pack  up  the  antiquities.  Then, 
leaning  to  kiss  her  on  the  brow,  he  suggested  that  she  should 
keep  in  her  own  room  Avhere  the  little  painted  tabernacle  was, 
and  where  she  was  then  sitting,  so  that  she  might  be  away 
from  the  noise  of  strange  footsteps.  Romola  assented  quiet- 
ly, making  no  sign  of  emotion :  the  night  had  been  one  long 
waking  to  her,  and,  in  spite  of  her  healthy  frame,  sensation  had 
become  a  dull  continuous  pain,  as  if  slie  had  been  stunned  and 
bruised.  Tito  divined  that  she  felt  ill,  but  he  dared  say  no 
more  ;  he  only  dared,  perceiving  that  her  hand  and  brow  were 
stone  cold,  to  fetch  a  furred  mantle  and  throw  it  lightly  round 
her.  And  in  every  brief  interval  that  he  returned  to  her  the 
scene  Avas  nearly  the  same :  he  tried  to  propitiate  her  by  some 
unobtrusive  act  or  word  of  tenderness,  and  she  seemed  to  have 
lost  the  power  of  speaking  to  him,  or  of  looking  at  him. 
"  Patience  !"  he  said  to  himself.  "  She  will  recover  it,  and 
forgive  at  last.  The  tie  to  me  must  still  remain  the  strong- 
est." When  the  stricken  person  is  slow  to  recover  and  look 
as  if  nothing  had  happened,  the  striker  easily  glides  into  the 
position  of  the  aggrieved  party ;  he  feels  no  bruise  himself, 
and  is  strongly  conscious  of  his  own  amiable  behavior  since  he 
inflicted  the  blow.  But  Tito  Avas  not  naturally  disposed  to 
feel  himself  aggrieved  ;  the  constant  bent  of  his  mind  was  to» 
wards  propitiation,  and  he  Avould  have  submitted  to  much  for 
the  sake  of  feeling  Romola's  hand  resting  on  his  head  again, 
as  it  did  that  morning  when  he  first  shrank  from  looking  at 
her. 

But  he  found  it  the  less  diflScult  to  wait  patiently  for  the 
return  of  his  home-happiness  because  his  life  out  of  doors  was 
more  and  more  interesting  to  him.  A  course  of  action  which 
is  in  strictness  a  slowly-prepared  outgrowth  of  the  entire  char- 
acter is  yet  almost  always  traceable  to  a  single  impression  as 
its  point  of  apparent  origin  ;  and  since  that  moment  in  the 
Piazza  del  Duomo,  when  Tito,  mounted  on  the  bales,  had  tasted 
a  keen  pleasure  in  the  consciousness  of  his  ability  to  tickle  the 
ears  of  men  with  any  phrases  that  pleased  them,  his  iraagina*- 


282  KOMOT-A. 

tion  hail  glanced  continually  towards  a  sort  of  political  activity 
which  the  troubled  public  life  of  Florence  was  likely  enouuh 
to  fiiiil  occasion  for.  But  the  fresh  dread  of  lialdassarre, 
waked  in  the  same  moment,  had  lain  like  an  immovable  rocky 
obstruction  across  that  ])ath,and  had  urged  hini  into  the  sale. 
of  the  library,  as  a  i)reparation  for  the  possible  necessity  of 
leaving  Florence,  at  the  very  time  when  he  was  beginning  to 
feel  that  it  had  a  new  attraction  for  him.  That  dreatl  was 
nearly  removed  now :  he  must  wear  his  armor  still ;  he  must 
prepare  himself  for  possible  demands  on  his  coolness  and  in- 
genuity ;  but  he  did  not  feel  obliged  to  take  the  inconvenient 
step  of  leaving  Florence  and  seeking  new  fortunes.  His  fa- 
ther had  refused  the  offered  atonement — had  forced  him  into 
defiance;  and  an  old  man  in  a  strange  place,  with  his  memory 
gone,  was  weak  enough  to  be  defied. 

Tito's  implicit  desires  w^ere  working  themselves  out  now  Ln 
very  explicit  thoughts.  As  the  freslmess  of  young  jiassion 
faded, life  was  taking  more  and  more  decidedly  for  him  the 
aspect  of  a  game  in  which  there  was  an  agreeable  mingling  of 
skill  and  chance. 

And  the  game  that  might  be  played  in  Florence  promis^.d 
to  be  rapid  and  exciting ;  it  was  a  game  of  revolutionary  and 
party  struggle,  sure  to  include  plenty  of  that  unavowed  action 
in  which  brilliant  ingenuity,  able  to  get  rid  of  all  inconvenient 
beliefs  excci)t  that  "  ginger  is  hot  in  the  mouth,"  is  apt  to  see 
the  ])ath  of  superior  wisdom. 

No  sooner  were  the  French  guests  gone  than  Florence  was 
as  agitated  as  a  colony  of  ants  when  an  alarming  shadow  has 
been  removed  and  the  cam]>  has  to  be  repaired.  ''How  are 
we  to  raise  the  money  for  the  Fi-ench  king?  How  are  we  to 
manage  the  war  with  those  obstinate  Pisan  rebels  ?  Above 
all,  how  are  we  to  mend  our  plan  of  government  so  as  to  hit  on 
the  best  way  of  getting  our  magistrates  chosen  and  our  laws 
voted?"  Till  those  questions  were  well  answered  trade  was 
in  danger  of  standing  still,  and  that  large  body  of  the  working 
men  who  were  not  counted  as  citizens,  and  had  not  so  much  as 
%  vote  to  serve  as  an  anodyne  to  their  stomachs,  were  likely  to 
gex,  imjiatient.     Something  must  be  done. 

And  first  the  great  boll  was  sounded,  to  call  the  citizens  to 
a  ])arliament  in  the  Pia/za  <le'  Signori ;  and  when  the  crowd 
was  wedged  close,  and  hemmed  in  by  armed  men  at  all  the  out- 
lets, the  SigTioria  (or  Clonfaloniere  and  eight  Priors  f<ir  the 
time  being)  came  out  and  stood  by  the  stone  lion  on  the  plat- 
form in  front  of  the  Old  Palace,  and  proposed  that  twenty 
chief  men  of  the  city  shoidd  have  dictatorial  authority  given 
them,  by  force  of  wliich  they  should  for  one  year  choose  all 


ROMOLA.  283 

magistrates,  and  set  the  frame  of  government  in  order.  And 
the  people  shouted  their  assent,  and  felt  themselves  the  electors 
of  the  Twenty.  This  kind  of  "parliament"  was  a  very  old 
Florentine  fashion,  by  which  the  will  of  the  few  was  made  to 
seem  the  choice  of  the  manv. 

The  shouting  in  the  Piazza  was  soon  at  an  end,  but  not  so 
the  debating  inside  the  palace  :  was  Florence  to  have  a  Great 
Council  after  the  Venetian  mode,  where  all  the  officers  of  gov- 
ernment might  be  elected,  and  all  laws  voted  by  a  wide  num- 
ber of  citizens  of  a  certain  age  and  of  ascertained  qualifications, 
without  question  of  rank  or  party ;  or  was  it  to  be  governed 
on  a  narrower  and  less  popular  scheme,  in  which  the  heredi- 
tary influence  of  good  families  would  be  less  adulterated  with 
the  votes  of  shopkeepers  ?  Doctors  of  law  disputed  day  after 
day,  and  far  on  into  the  night ;  Messer  Pagolantonio  Soderini 
alleged  excellent  reasons  on  the  side  of  the  popular  scheme ; 
Messer  Guidantonio  Vespucci  alleged  reasons  equally  excel- 
lent on  the  side  of  a  more  aristocratic  form.  It  was  a  ques- 
tion of  boiled  or  roast,  which  had  been  prejudged  by  the  pal- 
ates of  the  disputants,  and  the  excellent  arguing  might  have 
been  protracted  a  long  Avhile  without  any  other  result  than 
that  of  deferring  the  cooking.  The  majority  of  the  men  in- 
side the  palace,  having  power  already  in  their  hands,  agreed 
with  Vespucci,  and  thought  change  should  be  moderate ;  the 
majority  outside  the  palace,  conscious  of  little  power  and  many 
grievances,  were  less  afraid  of  change. 

And  there  was  a  force  outside  the  palace  which  was  grad- 
ually tending  to  give  the  vague  desires  of  that  majority  the 
character  of  a  determinate  will.  That  force  was  the  preach- 
ing of  Savonarola.  Impelled  partly  by  the  spiritual  necessity 
that  was  laid  upon  him  to  guide  the  people,  and  partly  by 
the  prompting  of  public  men  who  could  get  no  measures  car- 
ried without  his  aid,  he  was  rapidly  passing  in  his  daily  ser- 
mons from  the  general  to  the  special — from  telling  his  hearers 
that  they  must  postpone  their  private  passions  and  interests 
to  the  public  good,  to  telling  them  precisely  udiat  sort  of  gov- 
ernment they  must  have  in  order  to  promote  that  good — from 
"  choose  whatever  is  best  for  all,"  to  "  choose  the  Great  Coun- 
cil," and  "The  Great  Council  is  the  will  of  God." 

To  Savonarola  these  were  as  good  as  identical  propositions. 
The  Great  Council  was  the  only  practicable  plan  for  giving  an 
expression  to  the  public  will  large  enough  to  counteract  the 
vitiating  influence  of  party  interests  ;  it  was  a  plan  that  Avould 
make  honest  impartial  public  action  at  least  possible.  And 
the  purer  the  government  of  Florence  could  become — the  more 
secure  from  the  designs  of  men  who  saw  their  own  advantage 


284  BOMOLA. 


ill  (lie  moral  dcbascinont  of  their  fellows — the  nearer  would 
the  Florentine  people  approaeh  the  eharaeter  of  a  pure  eojnuui- 
nity,  Avorthy  to  lead  the  way  in  the  renovation  of  the  church 
aiuV  the  world.  And  FraGirolaino's  mind  never  stopped 
short  of  that  sublimest  end:  the  objects  towards  which  he 
felt  himself  working  ha<l  always  the  same  moral  magnific-enee. 
He  had  no  private  nialice,  he  sought  no  petty  gratilication. 
Even  in  the  last  terrible  days,  when  ignominy,  torture,  and  the 
fear  of  torture,  had  laid  bare  every  hidden  weakness  of  his 
boul,he  could  say  to  his  im])ortunate  judges,  "  Do  not  wonder 
if  it  seems  to  you  that  1  have  told  but  few  things;  for  my 
purposes  were  few  and  great."* 


CHAPTER  XXXVX 

ARIADNE  DISCROWNS  HERSELF. 

It  was  more  than  three  weeks  before  the  contents  of  the 
library  were  all  ])acked  and  carried  away.  And  Ilomola,  in- 
stead of  shutting  her  eyes  and  ears,  had  watched  the  process. 
The  exhaustion  consequent  on  violent  emotion  is  apt  to  bring 
a  dreamy  disbelief  in  the  reality  of  its  cause:  and  in  the 
eveninir,  when  the  workmen  were  gone,  KomoUi  took  her 
liand-lamp  and  walked  slowly  round^among  the  confusion  of 
straw  and  wooden  cases,  pausing  at  every  vacant  jiedestal, 
every  well-known  object  laid  ]»rostrate,  Avith  a  sort  of  bitter 
desire  to  assure  herself  that  there  was  a  suihcient  reason  why 
her  love  was  gone  and  the  world  was  barren  for  her.  And 
still,  as  the  evenings  came,  she  went  and  went  again;  no 
longer  to  assure  herself,  but  because  this  vivifying  of  pain 
antfdespair  about  her  father's  memory  was  the  strongest  life 
left  to  her  aflections.  And  on  the  23d  of  December  she  knew 
that  the  last  packaires  were  going.  She  ran  to  the  loggia  at 
the  toj)  of  the  house  that  she  might  not  lose  the  last  jtang  of 
seeing  the  slow  wheels  move  across  the  bridge. 

It^Avas  a  cloudy  day,  and  nearing  dusk.  Arno  ran  dark 
and  shivering  :  the  hills  were  mournful ;  and  Florence  with 
Us  girdling  stone  towers  had  that  silent,  tomb-like  look 
^■Wich  nnVn-oken  shadow  gives  to  a  city  seen  from  above. 
Santa  Croce,  where  her  father  lay,  was  dark  amidst  that  dark- 
ness ;  antl  slowly  crawling  over  the  bridge,  and  slowly  van- 
ishing up  the  narrow  street,  was  the  white  load,  like  a  cruel, 
deliberate  Fate,  carrying  away  her  father's  life-long  hope  to 

*  "  Se  vi  pure  clie  io  ahWux  detto  poche  cose,  non  ve  ne  maravigliate,  percb* 
le  mie  cose  crano  pochc  c  granilL" 


EOMOLA.  285 

ibnry  it  in  an  unmarked  grave.  Roraola  felt  less  that  she  was 
seeing  this  herself  than  that  her  father  was  conscious  of  it 
as  he  lay  helpless  under  the  imprisoning  stones,  where  her 
hand  could  not  reach  his  to  tell  him  that  he  was  not  alone. 

She  stood  still  even  after  the  load  had  disappeared,  heed- 
less of  the  cold,  and  soothed  by  the  gloom  which  seemed  to 
cover  her  like  a  mourning  garment  and  shut  out  the  discord 
of  joy.  When  suddenly  the  great  bell  in  the  palace  tower 
rang  out  a  mighty  peal :  not  the  hammer-sound  of  alarm,  but 
an  agitated  peal  of  triumph  ;  and  one  after  another  every 
other  bell  in  every  other  tower  seemed  to  catch  the  vibration 
and  join  the  chorus.  And  as  the  chorus  swelled  and  swelled 
till  the  air  seemed  made  of  sound,  little  flames,  vibrating  too, 
as  if  the  sound  had  caught  fire,  burst  out  between  the  turrets 
of  the  palace  and  on  the  girdling  towers. 

That  sudden  clang,  that  leaping  light,  fell  on  Romola  like 
sharp  Avounds.  They  were  the  triumph  of  demons  at  the 
success  of  her  husband's  treachery  and  the  desolation  of  her 
life.  Little  more  than  three  weeks  ago  she  had  been  intoxi- 
cated with  the  sound  of  those  very  bells  ;  and  in  the  gladness 
of  Florence  she  had  heard  a  prophecy  of  her  own  gladness. 
But  now  the  general  joy  seemed  cruel  to  her :  she  stood 
aloof  from  that  common  life — that  Florence  which  was  fling- 
ing out  its  loud  exultation  to  stun  the  ears  of  sorrow  and 
loneliness.  She  could  never  join  hands  with  gladness  again, 
but  only  with  those  whom  it  was  in  the  hard  nature  of  glad- 
ness to  forget.  And  in  her  bitterness  she  felt  that  all  re- 
joicing was  mockery.  Men  shouted  peans  with  their  souls 
full  of  heaviness,  and  then  looked  in  tlieir  neighbors'  faces  to 
see  if  there  was  really  such  a  thing  as  joy.  Romola  had  lost 
her  belief  in  the  liappincss  she  had  once  thirsted  for :  it  was 
a  hateful,  smiling,  soft-handed  thing,  with  a  narrow,  selfish 
heart. 

She  ran  down  from  the  loggia,  with  her  hands  pressed 
against  her  ears,  and  Avas  hurrying  across  the  antechamber, 
when  she  was  startled  by  unexpectedly  meeting  her  husband, 
who  was  coming  to  seek  her. 

His  step  was  elastic,  and  there  was  a  radiance  of  satisfac- 
tion about  him  not  quite  usual. 

"  What !  the  noise  was  a  little  too  much  for  you  ?"  he 
said ;  for  Romola,  as  she  started  at  the  sight  of  him,  had  press- 
ed  her  hands  all  the  closer  against  her  ears.  He  took  her 
gently  by  the  wrist,  and  drew  her  arm  within  his,  leading  her 
into  the  saloon  surrounded  with  the  dancing  nymphs  and 
fauns,  and  then  went  on  speaking :  "  Florence  is  gone  quite 
mad  at  getting  its  Great  Councilj  which  is  to  put  an  end  tw 


2RG  ROMOLA. 

all  the  evils  umk'r  the  fum ;  especially  to  the  vice  of  merri. 
nu'iit.  You  iiKiy  well  look  stuiini'd,  my  IJoiiiola,  mikI  you  are 
colli,  ^'oii  must  not  stay  so  lute  uiuler  ti/at  w  imly  loi^gia 
without  wiappint^s.  I  was  coming  to  tell  you  that  1  ain  sud- 
denly called  to  liome  about  some  learned  Inisiness  lor  Jieniar- 
do  Kucellai.  I  am  .u:oin<^  away  immediately,  lor  I  am  to  join 
my  l)arty  at  8au  Gau;y;io  to-night,  that  we  may  start  early  in 
the  morning  I  need  give  you  no  trouble;  1  have  had  my 
})ackages  nwuie  already.  It  will  not  be  very  long  before  I 
iani  back  again." 

He  knew  he  had  nothing  to  expect  from  her  but  (|uiet  en- 
durance of  what  he  said  and  did.  He  could  not  even  venture 
to  kiss  her  brow  this  evening,  but  just  pressed  her  hand  to 
liis  lips  and  left  her.  Tito  I'elt  that  liomola  was  a  more  nn- 
forgiving  woman  than  he  had  imagined  ;  her  love  was  not 
that  sweet  clinging  instinct,  stronger  than  all  judgments, 
which,  he  began  to  see  now,  made  the  great  charm  of  a  wife. 
Still,  this  petrified  coldness  was  better  than  a  passionate,  fu- 
tile opposition.  Her  pride  and  cai)ability  of  seeing  where 
resistance  was  useless  had  their  convenience. 

l>ut  when  the  door  had  closed  on  Tito,  Romola  lost  the 
look  of  cold  immobility  which  came  over  her  like  an  inevita- 
ble frost  whenever  he  a]>proached  her.  Inwaidly  she  was 
very  far  from  being  in  a  state  of  quiet  endurance,  antl  tiie 
days  that  had  passed  since  the  scene  which  had  divided  lier 
from  Tito  had  been  days  of  active  planning  and  preparation 
for  the  fullilhnent  of  a  ])urpose. 

The  first  thing  she  did  now  was  to  call  old  ^laso  to  her. 

"jMaso,"  she  said,  in  a  decided  tone,  "  we  take  our  journey 
to-morrow  morning.  We  shall  be  able  now  to  overtake  that 
first  Convoy  of  cloth,  while  they  are  waiting  at  San  I'ie- 
ro.  See  about  the  two  mules  to-night,  and  be  ready  to  set 
off  with  tin  in  ;it  break  of  day,  and  wait  for  me  at  Prespia- 
iio." 

She  meant  to  take  Maso  with  her  as  far  as  Bologna,  and 
then  send  liini  l)ack  with  letters  to  her  godfather  and  Tito, 
telling  till  in  tliat  she  was  gone  and  never  meant  to  return. 
She  had  jilanned  her  departure  so  that  its  secrecy  might  be 
perfect,  and  her  broken  love  and  life  be  hidden  away  unscan- 
ned  by  vulgar  eyes.  Ik-rnardo  del  Nero  had  been  absent  at 
his  villa,  willing  to  escape  from  political  susjticions  to  his  fa- 
vorite occupation  ofatti'nding  to  his  land,  and  she  had  paid 
him  the  debt  without  a  personal  interview.  He  did  not  even 
knf)w  that  the  libr.irv  was  sold,  and  was  left  to  conjecture 
that  some  sudden  pieee  of  good  fortunt'  had  enabled  Tito  to 
Ttiisc  this  sum  of  money.    Maso  had  been  taken  into  her  con- 


EOMOLA.  287 

fidence  only  so  far  that  he  knew  her  intended  journey  was  a 
secret;  and  to  do  just  what  she  told  him  was  the  thing  he 
eared  most  for  in  his  withered  wintry  age. 

Ronioia  did  not  mean  to  go  to  bed  that  night.  When  she 
had  fastened  the  door  she  took  her  taper  to  the  carved  and 
painted  chest  which  contained  her  wedding-clothes.  The 
wliite  silk  and  gold  lay  there,  the  long  white  veil  and  the 
circlet  of  pearls.  A  great  sob  rose  as  she  looked  at  them : 
they  seemed  the  shroud  of  her  dead  happiness.  In  a  tiny  gold 
loop  of  the  circlet  a  sugar-plum  had  lodged — a  pink  hailstone 
from  the  shower  of  sweets :  Tito  had  detected  it  iirst,  and  had 
said  that  it  should  always  remain  there.  At  certain  moments 
— and  this  was  oue  of  them — Romola  was  carried,  by  a  sud- 
den wave  of  memory,  back  again  into  the  time  of  perfect  trust, 
and  felt  again  the  presence  of  the  husband  whose  love  made 
the  world  as  fresh  and  wonderful  to  her  as  to  a  little  child 
that  sits  in  stillness  among  the  sunny  flowers:  heard  the  gen- 
tle tones  and  saw  the  soft  eyes  without  any  lie  in  them,  and 
breathed  over  again  tliat  large  freedom  of  the  soul  which 
comes  from  the  faith  that  the  being  who  is  nearest  to  us  is 
greater  than  ourselves.  And  in  those  brief  moments  the  tears 
always  rose :  the  woman's  lovingness  felt  something  akin  to 
what  the  bereaved  mother  feels  when  the  tiny  fingers  seem  to 
lie  warm  on  her  bosom,  and  yet  are  marble  to  her  lips  as  she 
bends  over  the  silent  bed. 

But  there  was  something  else  lying  in  the  chest  besides  the 
wedding-clothes:  it  was  something  dark  and  coarse,  rolled 
up  in  a  close  bundle.  She  turned  away  her  eyes  from  the 
white  and  gold  to  the  dark  bundle,  and  as  her  hands  touched 
the  serge  her  tears  began  to  be  checked.  That  coarse  rough- 
ness recalled  her  fully  to  the  present,  from  which  love  and  de- 
light were  gone.  She  unfastened  the  thick  white  cord  and 
spread  the  bundle  out  on  the  table.  It  was  the  gray  serge 
dress  of  a  sister  belonging  to  the  third  order  of  St.  Francis, 
living  in  the  world  but  specially  devoted  to  deeds  of  piety — 
a  personage  whom  the  Florentines  were  accustomed  to  call 
a  Pinzochera.  Romola  was  going  to  put  on  this  dress  as  a 
disguise,  and  she  determined  to  put  it  on  at  once,  so  that,  if 
ishe  needed  sleep  before  the  morning,  she  might  wake  up  in 
perfect  readiness  to  be  gone.  She  put  oft' her'^black  garment, 
and  as  she  thrust  her  soft  white  arms  into  the  harsh  sleeves 
of  the  serge  mantle  and  felt  the  hard  girdle  of  rope  hurt  her 
fingers  as  she  tied  it,  she  courted  those  rude,  sensations :  they 
were  in  keeping  with  her  new  scorn  of  that  thing  called 
pleasure  which  made  men  base — that  dexterous  contrivance 
lor  selfish  ease,  that  shrinking  from  endurance  and  strain,  when 


288  UOMOhA. 

others  were  bowincj  beneatli  burdens  too  lioavy  for  them, 
"which  now  made  t)iie  imaj^c  witli  her  liushaii<l. 

'I'hi'ii  she  i^allifrt'il  \ivv  h)iiif  hair  togt'tlicr,  drew  it  away 
tiijht  from  her  lace,  bound  it  in  a  great  hard  knot  at  the 
back  of  her  liead,  and  takinLC  a  s(|uare  jiicce  of  l)hKk  silk,  tied 
it  in  the  fashion  of  a  kerchief  ch)se  across  lier  head  and  under 
her  cliin  ;  and  over  tliat  slie  drew  the  cowl.  Slie  lifted  the 
candle  to  the  mirror.  Surely  her  disguise  would  be  complete 
to  any  one  who  had  not  lived  very  near  to  her.  To  herself 
she  looked  strangely  like  her  brother  Dino  :  the  full  oval  of 
the  cheek  had  only  to  be  wasted;  the  eyes,  already  sad, had 
only  to  become  a  little  sunken.  Was  she  getting  more  like 
him  in  any  thing  else":'  Only  in  this,  that  she  understood 
now  how  nu'n  could  ))e  promjjted  to  rush  away  forever  from 
earthly  delights,  how  they  could  be  prom])tetl  to  dwell  on 
images  of  sorrow  rather  than  of  beauty  and  joy. 

But  she  did  not  linger  at  the  mirror:  she  set  about  col- 
lecting and  j)acking  all  the  relics  of  her  fatlui'  and  mother 
that  were  too  large  to  be  carried  in  her  small  travelling  wal- 
let. They  were  all  to  be  put  in  the  chest  along  with  her 
wedding-clothes,  and  the  chest  was  to  be  committed  to  her 
godfather  Avhen  she  was  safely  gone.  First  she  laid  in  the 
])ortraits;  then  one  by  one  every  little  thing  that  had  a  sa- 
cied  memory  clinging  to  it  was  put  into  her  wallet  or  into 
the  chest. 

She  paused.  There  was  still  something  else  to  l)e  stri|)ped 
away  from  her  belonging  to  that  i)ast  on  which  she  was  go- 
ing to  turn  her  back  forever.  She  ])ut  her  thumb  and  her 
forefinger  to  her  betrothal  ring;  but  they  rested  there,  with- 
out drawing  it  off.  Komola's  mind  had  l)een  rushing  with 
an  impetuous  current  tow:irds  this  act  for  which  she  was  pre- 
})aring:  the  act  of  (putting  a  hiisli:ind  who  had  disappointed 
all  her  trust,  the  act  of  bi-i'akiiig  an  out  wai-d  tie  that  no  long- 
er rej)resented  the  inward  bond  of  love,  ihit  that  force  of 
outward  symbols  by  which  our  active  life  is  knit  together, 
KO  as  to  make  an  inexorable  external  identity  for  us,  not  to 
he  sliaken  by  our  wavering  consciousness,  gave  a  strange  ef- 
fect to  this  simj)le  movement  towards  taking  off  her  ring — h 
movement  which  was  but  a  small  si'(pience  of  her  energetic 
resolution.  It  brouLrht  a  vague  but  arresting  sense  that  she 
was  somehow  violently  rending  her  life  in  two  :  a  palpitating 
presentiment  that  the  strong  impulse  which  had  seemed  to 
exclude  doubt,  and  make  her  ]>ath  clear,  might  after  all  bo 
blindness,  and  that  there  was  something  in  human  Ixuidti 
■.vliich  must  ]»reveut  them  from  being  broken  with  the  break- 
ing uf  illusions. 


EOMOLA,  285 

Tf  that  beloved  Tito  who  had  placed  the  betrothal  ring 
upon  her  finger  was  not  in  any  valid  sense  the  same  Tito 
whom  she  had  ceased  to  love,  why  should  she  return  to  him 
the  sign  of  their  union,  and  not  rather  retain  it  as  a  memori- 
al ?  And  this  act,  which  came  as  a  palpable  demonstration 
of  her  own  and  his  identity,  had  a  power,  unexplained  to  her- 
self, of  shaking  Romola.  It  is  the  way  with  half  the  truth 
amidst  which  we  live,  that  it  only  haunts  us,  and  makes  dull 
pulsations  that  are  never  born  into  sound.  But  there  was  a 
passionate  voice  speaking  within  her  that  presently  nullified 
all  such  muffled  murmurs. 

"  It  can  not  be  !  I  can  not  be  subiect  to  him.  He  is  false. 
I  shrink  from  him.     I  despise  him !" 

She  snatched  the  ring  from  her  finger,  and  laid  it  on  the 
table  against  the  pen  with  which  she  meant  to  write.  Again 
she  felt  that  there  could  be  no  law  for  her  but  the  law  of  her 
affections.  That  tenderness  and  keen  fellow-feeling  for  the 
near  and  the  loved,  which  are  the  main  outgrowth  of  the  af- 
fections, had  made  the  religion  of  her  life :  they  had  made 
her  patient  in  spite  of  natural  impetuosity  ;  they  would  have 
sufficed  to  make  her  heroic.  But  now  all  that  strength  was 
gone,  or,  I'ather,  it  was  converted  into  the  strength  of  repul- 
sion. She  had  recoiled  from  Tito  in  proportion  to  the  ener- 
gy of  that  young  belief  and  love  which  he  had  disappointed, 
of  that  life-long  devotion  to  her  father  against  which  he  had 
committed  an  irredeemable  offense.  And  now  it  seemed  as 
if  all  motive  had  slipped  away  from  her,  except  the  indigna- 
tion and  scorn  that  made  her  tear  herself  asunder  from  him. 
She  was  not  acting  after  any  precedent,  or  obeying  any 
adopted  maxims.  The  grand  severity  of  the  stoical  ]ilii- 
losophy  in  which  her  father  had  taken  care  to  instruct  her 
was  familiar  enough  to  her  cars  and  lips,  and  its  lofty  spirit 
had  raised  certain  echoes  within  her ;  but  she  had  nevei 
used  it,  never  needed  it,  as  a  rule  of  life.  She  had  endured 
and  forborne  because  she  loved:  maxims  wHich  told  her  to 
feel  less,  and  not  to  cling  close,  lest  the  onward  course 
of  great  Nature  should  jar  her,  had  been  as  powerless  on 
her  tenderness  as  they  had  been  on  her  father's  yearning 
for  just  fame.  She  had  appropriated  no  theories  :  she  had 
simply  felt  strong  in  th'.  strength  of  aflfection,  and  life 
without  that  energy  came  to  her  as  an  entirely  new  j)rob- 
lem. 

She  was  going  to  solve  the  problem  in  a  way  that  seemed 
to  her  very  simple.  Her  mind  had  never  yet  bowed  to  any 
obligation  apart  from  ]iersonal  love  and  reverence  ;  she  had 
DO  keen  sense  of  any  other  human  relations,  and  all  she  had 

13 


290  noMOLA. 

to  obey  now  was  tlie  instinct  to  sever  herself  from  the  man 
she  loved  no  longer. 

Vet  the  unswerving  resolution  was  accornjcmied  with  con« 
tinually  varying  ])hases  of  anguish.  Ami  nuw  tliat  the  act- 
ive preparation  for  her  departure  was  almost  finished,  she 
lino-eri'd  ;  she  deferred  writing  the  irrevocahk'  words  of  i>art- 
ing  from  all  her  little  world.  The  emotions  of  the  j)ast  weeks 
seemed  to  rush  in  again  witli  cruel  hurry,  and  take  posses- 
sion even  of  her  limbs.  She  was  going  to  write,  and  lier 
lumd  fell.  IJitter  tears  came  now  at  the  delusion  which  had 
blighted  lier  young  years :  tears  very  ditierent  from  the  sob 
of  remembered  liappiness  with  which  she  had  looked  at  the 
circh't  of  pearls  and  the  \nn\i.  hailstone.  And  now  she  felt  a 
tinu'ling  shame  at  the  wor^ls  of  ignominy  slie  liad  cast  at  Tito 
— "  Have  you  robbed  some  one  else  Avho  is  not  deatl  ?"  To 
have  had  such  words  wrung  from  her — to  have  uttered  them 
to  lier  liusband,  seemed  a  degradation  of  her  Avliole  life. 
Hard  speech  between  those  wlio  have  loved  is  liideous  in  the 
memory,  like  the  sight  of  greatness  and  beauty  sunk  into 
vice  and  rags. 

That  heart-cutting  comparison  of  the  present  with  the 
past  urged  itself  upon  Komola  till  it  even  transformed  itself 
into  wretched  sensations;  she  seemed  benumbed  to  every 
thing  but  inward  tiirobbings,  and  began  to  feel  the  need  of 
some  hard  contact.  She  drew  her  hands  tight  along  the 
liarsh  knotted  cord  that  hung  from  lier  waist.  She  started 
to  her  feet,  and  seized  the  rough  lid  of  tlie  chest:  there  was 
nothing  else  to  go  in  ?  No.  She  closed  the  lid,  j)ressing  her 
hand  upon  the  rough  carving,  and  locked  it. 

Then  she  remend)ered  that  slie  had  still  to  comi)lete  her 
equipment  as  a  l*inzochera.  The  large  leather  ]>urse  or 
scarsella,  with  small  coin  in  it,  had  to  be  liung  on  the  cord 
at  her  waist  (her  florins  and  small  jewels,  presents  from  her 
godfather  and  cousin  J>rio;ida,  were  safely  fastened  with- 
in her  serge  mantle) — and  on  (he  other  side  must  hang  the  ro* 
sary.  It  did  not  occur  to  Komola  as  she  hung  that  rosary 
by  her  side  that  something  else  besides  the  mere  garb  woul<'. 
])erhaps  be  necessary  to  enable  her  to  jtass  as  a  Pinzochera, 
and  that  her  whole  air  and  expression  were  as  little  as  pos- 
sible like  those  of  a  sister  whose  eyelids  were  used  to  be  bent 
and  whose  lips  were  used  to  77iove  in  silent  iteration.  Her 
inexperience  prevented  her  from  ])icturing  distant  details, 
and  it  helped  her  proud  courage  in  shutting  out  any  forebod- 
ing of  danger  andrinsult.  She  did  not  know  that  any  F'lor- 
entine  woman  had  ever  done  exactly  what  she  was  going  to 
do;  iinhajipy  wives  often  took  refuge  with  their  friends,  oJ 


EOilOLA.  291 

In  the  cloister,  slie  knew,  but  both  those  courses  were  impos- 
sible to  her ;  she  had  invented  a  lot  for  herself — to  go  to  the 
most  learned  woman  in  the  world,  Cassandra  Fedele,  at 
Venice,  and  ask  her  how  an  instructed  woman  could  8up2)ort 
herself  in  a  lonely  life  there.  She  was  not  daunted  by  the 
practical  difficulties  in  the  way  or  the  dark  uncertainty  at 
the  end.  Her  life  could  never  be  happy  any  more,  but  it 
must  not,  could  not  be  ignoble.  And  bya  pathetic  mixture 
of  childish  romance  with  her  woman's  trials,  the  philosopliy 
which  had  nothing  to  do  with  this  great  decisive  deed  of  hers 
had  its  place  in  her  imagination  of  the  future:  so  far  as  she 
conceived  her  solitary  loveless  life  at  all,  she  saw  it  animated 
by  a  proud  stoical  heroism,  and  by  an  indistinct  but  strong 
purpose  of  labor,  that  she  might  be  wise  enough  to  Avrite 
something  which  would  rescue  her  father's  name" from  obliv- 
ion. After  all,  she  was  only  a  young  girl — this  poor  Romo- 
la,  who  had  found  herself  at  the  end  of  her  joys. 

There  were  other  things  yet  to  be  done.  There  Avas  a 
small  key  in  a  casket  on  the  table — but  now  Romola  per- 
ceived that  her  taper  was  dying  out,  and  she  had  forgotten 
to  2>rovide  herself  with  any  other  light.  In  a  few  moments 
the  room  was  in  total  darkness.  Feeling  her  way  to  the 
nearest  chair,  she  sat  down  to  wait  for  the  morning. 

Her  purpose  in  seeking  the  key  had  called  up  certain  mem- 
ories which  had  come  back  upon  her  during  the  past  week 
with  the  new  vividness  tliat  remembered  words  always  have 
for  us  when  we  have  learned  to  give  them  a  new  meaning. 
Since  the  shock  of  the  revelation  which  had  seemed  to  divide 
her  forever  from  Tito,  that  last  interview  wdth  Dino  had 
never  been  for  many  hours  together  out  of  her  mind.  And 
it  solicited  her  all  the  more,  because  while  its  remembered 
images  pressed  upon  her  almost  Avith  the  imperious  force  of 
sensations,  they  raised  struggling  thoughts  which  resisted 
their  influence.  She  could  not  prevent  herself  from  hearing 
iuAvardly  the  dying  prophetic  voice  saying  again  and  again, 
"The  man  whose  face-Avas  a  blank  loosed  thy  hand  and  de- 
parted; and  as  he  went  I  could  see  his  face,  and  it  was  the 

face  of  the  Great  Tempter And  thou,  Romola,  didst 

wring  thy  hands  and  seek  for  water,  and  there  Avas  none .... 
and  the  plain  was  bare  and  stony  again,  and  thou  wast  alone 
in  the  midst  of  it.  And  then  it  seemed  that  tlie  night  fell, 
and  I  saw  no  more."  She  could  not  prevent  herself  from 
dwelling  witli  a  sort  of  agonized  fascination  on  the  Avasted 
face;  on  the  straining  gaze  at  the  crucifix;  on  the  awe 
Avhich  had  compelled  her  to  kneel ;  on  the  last  broken  Avoi-ds 
and  then  the  unbroken  silence — on  all  the  details  of  the 


292  UOMULA. 

ileatl)-sccne,  which  liad  scciiumI  like  a  sudtlen  opening  into  a 
MurM  apart  from  that  of  her  liie-h)n<i;  kno\vle.l;j;e. 

liiil  her  iiiiinl  was  roiisi'd  to  resistance  »>l"  iiiii)ressions  that, 
from  being  obvious  jjhantoms,  seemed  to  be  getting  solid  in 
tlie  dayliglit.  As  a  strong  body  struggles  against  fumes 
with  the  more  Aiolence  when  they  begin  to  be  stiHing,  a 
strong  soul  struggles  against  jjhantasies  with  all  the  more 
alarmed  energy  when  they  threaten  to  govern  in  the  place 
of  thought.  What  had  the  words  of  that  vision  to  do  with 
her  real  sorrows?  That  litting  of  certain  words  was  a  mere 
chance  ;  the  rest  was  all  vague — nay,  those  words  themselves 
were  vaLTUt';  tliey  were  determined  l)y  nothing  but  lier 
brother's  memories  and  beliefs.  lie  believed  there  was 
something  fatal  in  pagan  learning;  he  believed  that  celibacy 
Avas  more  holy  than  marriage:  he  remembered  their  home, 
and  all  the  objects  in  tlie  library;  and  of  these  threads  the 
vision  was  woven.  What  reasonable  warrant  could  she 
liave  liad  for  believing  in  such  a  vision  and  acting  on  it  ? 
None.  True  as  the  voice  of  foreboding  had  jtroved,  Romola 
saw  witli  unshaken  conviction  that  to  have  renounced  Tito 
in  obedience  to  a  warning  like  that,  would  have  been  meagre- 
liearted  folly.  Her  trust  had  been  delusive,  but  she  would 
have  chosen  over  again  to  liave  acted  on  it  rather  than  be  a 
creature  led  by  phantt)ms  and  disjointed  whispers  in  a  world 
where  there  was  the  large  music  of  reasonable  speech  and 
the  warm  grasp  of  living  hands. 

But  the  persistent  ])resence  of  these  memories,  linking 
t'liemselves  in  lier  imagination  with  her  actual  lot,  gave  her 
a  glimpse  of  understanding  into  the  lives  which  had  before 
lain  utterly  aloof  from  her  synijiatiiy — the  lives  of  the  men 
and  womeii  who  were  led  by  suth  inward  images  and  voices. 

"  If  they  were  only  a  little  stronger  in  me,"  she  said  to 
lu'rself,  "I  should  k)se  the  sense  of  what  tliat  vision  really 
was,  and  take  it  ibr  ?.  prophetic  light.  I  might  in  time  get 
to  be  a  seer  of  visions  myself,  like  the  Suora  ^laddalena,  and 
Camilla  Kucellai  and  the  rest." 

liomola  shuddered  at  the  possibility.  All  the  instruction, 
all  till"  main  influences  of  her  life,  had  gone  to  fortify  lier 
scorn  of  that  sickly  superstition  which  led  men  and  women, 
with  eyes  too  weak  for  the  daylight,  to  sit  in  dark  swain))S 
and  try  to  read  human  destiny  by  the  chance  flame  of  wan- 
dering vapors. 

Ami  yet  she  was  conscious  of  something  deeper  tlian  that 
coincidence  of  wt)r(ls  which  made  the  jiarting  contact  with 
l\er  (lying  brother  live  anew  in  her  mind,  and  gave  her  anew 
Bisteriiood  to  t)ie  wasted  face.     If  there  were  much  more  of 


KOMOLA.  293 

such  experience  as  his  in  the  world  she  woukl  like  to  under 
stand  It — would  even  like  to  learn  the  thoughts  of  men  who 
sank  in  ecstasy  before  the  pictured  agonies  of  martyrdom. 
There  seemed  to  be  something  more  tlian  madness  in  that 
supreme  fellowship  with  suffering.  The  springs  were  all 
dried  up  around  her:  she  wondered  what  other  waters  there 
were  at  Avhich  men  drank  and  found  strength  in  the  desert. 
And  those  moments  in  the  Duomo  when  shehad  sobbed  with 
a  mysterious  mingling  of  rapturo  and  pain  when  Fra  Girola- 
mo  offered  himself  a  willing  sacrifice  for  the  j^eople,  came 
back  to  her  as  if  they  had  been  a  transient  taste  of  some  far- 
off  fountain.  But  again  she  shrank  from  impressions  that 
were  alluring  her  within  the  sphere  of  visions  and  narrow 
fears  which  compelled  men  to  outrage  natural  affections  as 
Dino  had  done. 

This  was  the  tangled  web  that  Romola  had  in  her  mind 
as  she  sat  weary  in  the  darkness.  Xo  radiant  angel  came 
across  the  gloom  Avith  a  clear  message  for  her.  In  those 
times,  as  now,  there  were  human  beings  who  never  saw  an- 
gels or  heard  perfectly  clear  messages.  Such  truth  as  came 
to  them  was  brought  confusedly  in  the  voices  and  deeds  of 
men  not  at  all  like  the  seraphsof  unfailing  wing  and  piercing 
vision — men  who  believed  falsities  as  well  as  truths,  and  did 
the  wrong  as  well  as  the  right.  The  helping  hands  stretched 
out  to  them  were  the  hands  of  men  who  stumbled  and  often 
saw  dimly,  so  that  these  beings  unvisited  by  angels  had  no 
other  choice  than  to  grasp  that  stumbling  guidance  along 
the  path  of  reliance  and  action  which  is  the  path  of  life,  or 
else  to  pause  in  loneliness  and  disbelief,  which  is  no  path,  but 
the  arrest  of  inaction  and  death. 

And  so  Romola,  seeing  no  ray  across  the  darkness,  and 
heavy  with  conflict  that  changed  nothino;,  sank  at  last  to 
sleep. 


CHAPTER  XXXVU. 

THE     TABERXACLE    UNLOCKED. 


Romola  was  waked  by  a  tap  at  the  door.  The  cold  light 
of  early  morning  Avas  in  the  room,  and  Maso  was  come  "for 
the  travelling  wallet.  The  old  man  could  not  help  starting 
when  she  opened  the  door,  and  showed  him,  instead  of  the 
graceful  outline  he  had  been  used  to,  crowned  with  the  brio;ht- 
ncss  of  her  hair,  the  thick  folds  of  the  gray  mantle  and  the 
pale  face  shadowed  by  the  dark  cowl. 

"  It  is  well,  Maso."  said  Romola,  trying  to  speak  in  the 


294  i:i)M(>i,A. 

calmest  voice,  and  make  the  old  man  easy.  "  Here  is  tho 
wallet  quite  ready.  You  ^\■ill  go  on  quietly,  and  I  shall  not 
be  far  behind  you.  Wlien  you  get  out  ofliu'  gates  you  may 
go  more  slowly,  for  I  ^hall  i)erha])S  join  you  before  *vou  o-et 
to  Irespiano. 

She  closed  the  door  behind  him,  and  then  ])ut  her  hand  on 
the  key  which  she  had  taken  from  the  casket  the  last  thiii2 
in  the  night.  ^  It  was  the  original  key  of  the  little  painted 
tabernacle :  Tito  had  forgotten  to  drown  it  in  the  Arno,  and 
it  had  lodged,  as  such  small  things  will,  in  the  corner  of  the 
embroidered  scarsella  which  he  Morc  Avith  the  purple  tunic. 
One  day,  lolig  after  their  marriage,  Komola  had  found  it 
there,  and  bad  put  it  by,  Avithout  using  it,  but  Avith  a  sense 
of  satisfaction  that  the*key  was  Avithin  reach.  The  cabinet 
on  Avhicli  the  tabernacle  stood  had  been  moved  to  the  side 
of  tlve  room,  close  to  one  of  the  windows,  Avhere  tlie  i)ale 
morning  light  fell  upon  it  so  as  to  maki'  the  painted  forms 
discernible  enough  to  Komola,  Avho  knew  them  Avell — the  tri- 
umi)hant  Uacchus,  a\  ith  his  clusters  and  his  vine-clad  spear, 
clas])ing  the  croAvned  Ariadne  ;  the  Loves  showering  roses, 
the  Avreathed  vessels,  the  cunning-eyed  dolphins,  and  the  rip- 
pled sea;  all  encircled  by  a  tioAvery  border,  like  a  boAver  of 
paradise.  IJomola  looked  at  the  familiar  images  Avith  ncAv 
bitterness  and  lepulsion  :  they  seemed  a  more  pitiable  mock- 
ery than  ever  on  this  chill  morning,  Avhen  she  had  Avaked  up 
to  Avander  in  loneliness.  They  had  been  no  tond)  of  sorroAV, 
but  a  lying  screen.  Foolish  Ariadne  ;  Avith  her  gaze  of  love, 
as  if  that  bright  face,  Avith  its  hyacinthine  curls  like  tendrils 
among  the  vines,  held  the  deep  secret  of  iier  life  ! 

"Ariadne  is  Avonderfully  ti-ansformed,"  thought  Romola. 
"  She  Avould  look  strange  among  the  vines  and  the  roses 
noAV." 

She  took  u])  the  mirror,  and  looked  at  herself  once  more. 
Rut  the  sight  was  so  startling  in  this  morning  light  that  she 
laiil  it  down  again,  Avith  a  sense  of  shrinking  almost  as  strong 
as  that  Avith  Avhich  she  had  turned  frojn  the  joyous  Aiiadne. 
The  recognition  of  her  oavu  face,  Avith  the  cowl  about  it, 
brought  back  the  dread  lest  she  should  be  drawn  at  last  into 
fellowship  Avith  some  Avretched  superstition  —  into  the  com- 
pany of  tlie  howling  fanatics  and  Aveepiiig  nuns  who  had  been 
her  i'ontcmpt  from  childhood  till  now.  Sjic  thrust  the  key 
into  the  tabciii.acle  hurriedly:  hurriedly  she  opened  it,  and 
took  out  the  crucifix,  Avithoul  looking  at  it;  tlien,  Avith  ticm- 
Iding  fingers,  she  ])assed  a  cord  through  the  little  ring,  hung 
the  crucifix  round  her  neck,  and  hid  it  in  the  bosom  of  heJ 
mantle.     "For  Dino's  sake,"  she  said  to  herself 


ROMOLA.  295 

Still  there  Avere  the  letters  to  be  written  which  Maso  was 
to  carry  back  from  Bologna.  They  were  very  brief.  The 
first  said : 

Tito,  my  love  for  you  is  dead  ;  and  therefore,  so  far  as  I  was  yours,  I  too 
am  dead.  Do  not  try  to  put  in  force  an}'  laws  for  the  sake  of  fetcliing  me 
back :  that  would  bring  you  no  happiness.  The  Romola  you  married  can 
never  return.  I  need  explain  nothing  to  you  after  the  words  I  uttered  to  you 
the  last  time  we  spoke  long  together.  If  you  supposed  them  to  be  words  of 
transient  anger,  you  will  know  now  that  they  were  the  sign  of  an  irreversible 
change. 

I  think  you  will  fulfill  my  wish  that  my  bridal  chest  should  be  sent  to  my 
god  Either,  who  gave  it  me.  It  contains  my  wedding-clothes,  and  the  portraits 
and  other  relics  of  my  father  and  mother. 

She  folded  the  ring  inside  this  letter,  and  wn-ote  Tito's 
name  outside.     The  next  letter  was  to  Bernardo  del  Nero : 

"  Dearest  Godfather, — If  I  could  have  been  any  good  to  your  life  by 
staving  I  would  not  have  gone  away  to  a  distance.  But  now  I  am  gone. 
Do  not  ask  the  reason  ;  and  if  you  loved  my  lather,  try  to  prevent  any  one 
from  seeking  me.  I  could  not  bear  my  life  at  Florence.  I  can  not  bear  to 
tell  any  one  why.  Help  to  cover  my  lot  in  silence.  I  have  asked  that  my 
bridal  chest  should  be  sent  to  you  :  when  you  open  it  you  will  know'  the  rea- 
son. Please  to  give  all  the  things  that  were  my  mother's  to  my  cousin  Bri- 
gida,  and  ask  her  to  forgive  me  for  not  saying  any  words  of  jiarting  to  her. 

' '  Farewell,  my  second  father.  The  best  thing  I  have  in  life  is  still  to  re- 
member yoiu-  goodness  and  be  grateful  to  you.  Eojiola." 

Romola  put  the  letters,  along  with  the  crucifix,  within  the 
bosom  of  her  mantle,  and  then  felt  that  eveiy  thing  was  done. 
She  was  ready  now  to  depart. 

No  one  Avas  stirring  in  the  house,  and  she  w^ent  almost  as 
quietly  as  a  gray  phantom  down  the  stall's  and  into  the  si- 
lent street.  Her  heart  was  palpitating  violcnth%  yet  she  en- 
joyed the  sense  of  her  firm  tread  on  the  broad  flags — of  the 
swift  movement,  which  was  like  a  chained-up  resolution  set 
free  at  last.  The  anxiety  to  carry  out  her  act,  and  the  dread 
of  any  obstacle,  averted  sorrow ;  and  as  she  reached  the  Ponte 
Kubaconte  she  felt  less  that  Santa  Croce  was  in  her  sight 
th^n  that  the  yellow  streak  of  morning  which  parted  the 
gray  was  getting  broader  and  broader,  and  that,  unless  she 
hastened  her  stejjs,  she  should  have  to  encounter  faces.  Her 
simplest  road  was  to  go  right  on  to  the  Borgo  Pinti,  and  then 
along  by  the  walls  to  the  Porta  San  Gallo,  from  which  she 
must  leave  the  city,  and  this  road  carried  her  by  the  Piazza 
di  Santa  Croce.  But  she  walked  as  steadily  and  rapidly  as 
ever  through  the  piazza,  not  trusting  herself  to  look  towards 
the  church.  Tlie  thouglit  that  any  eyes  might  be  turned  on 
her  with  a  look  of  curiosity  and  recognition,  and  that  indif- 
ferent minds  might  be  set  speculating  on  her  private  sorrows, 
made  Romola  shrink  physically  as  from  the  imagination  of 


29G  KOMOLA. 

torture.  Slie  felt  dcjijradcd  even  l>y  that  act  of  her  husbancl 
from  whieh  she  was  lielplessly  sutt'ernirj.  IJiit  there  was  no 
sijijii  that  any  eyes  looked  forth  from  windows  to  notice  this 
tall  t^ray  sister,  with  the  firm  step  and  proud  attitude  of  the 
cowicd  iiead.  Ilcr  road  lay  aloof  from  the  stir  of  early  traf- 
fic ;  an<l  when  she  reached  the  I'orta  San  tiallo  it  was  easy 
to  pass  while  a  dispute  Avas  going  forward  about  the  toll  for 
painiiers  of  eggs  and  market  produce  which  were  just  enter- 
ing. 

Out !  Once  past  the  houses  of  the  Jiorgo,  she  would  be 
beyond  the  last  fringe  of  Florence,  the  sky  Avould  be  broad 
above  her,  and  she  would  have  entered  on  her  new  life — a 
life  of  loneliness  and  endurance,  but  of  freedom.  She  had 
been  strong  enough  to  snap  asunder  the  bonds  she  had  ac- 
cepted in  blind  faith.  AViiatever  befell  her,  she  would  no 
more  feel  the  breath  of  soft,  hated  li})s  warm  u])on  her  cheek, 
no  longer  feel  the  breath  of  an  odious  mind  stilling  her  own. 
The  bare  wintry  morning,  the  chill  air,  were  welcome  in  their 
severity.  The  leafless  trees,  the  soml)re  hills,  were  lu-t  haunt- 
ed liy  the  gods  of  beauty  and  joy,  whose  worship  she  had  for- 
saken forever. 

But  presently  the  light  burst  forth  with  sudden  strength, 
and  shadows  were  thrown  across  the  road.  It  seemed  that 
the  sun  was  going  to  chase  away  the  grayness.  The  light  is 
perhaps  never  felt  more  strongly  as  a  divine  presence,  stirring 
all  those  inarticulate  sensibilities  which  are  our  deepest  life, 
than  in  these  moments  when  it  instantaneously  awakens  the 
shadows.  A  certain  awe  which  inevitably  accompanied  this 
most  momentous  act  of  her  life  became  a  more  conscious  ele- 
ment in  Uomola's  feeling  as  she  found  herself  in  tlie  sudden 
presence  of  the  imiialpable  golden  glory  and  the  long  shad- 
ow of  herself  that  was  not  to  be  escaped.  Hitherto  she  had 
met  no  one  but  an  occasional  contadino  with  mules,  and  the 
many  turnini^s  of  the  road  on  the  level  prevented  her  from 
seeing  that  Alaso  was  not  very  far  ahead  of  her.  J>ut  when 
she  had  jiassed  Pietra,  and  Mas  on  rising  ground,  she  lifted 
up  the  hanging  roof  of  her  cowl  and  looked  eagerly  belbre 
her. 

The  cowl  was  dropped  again  immediately.  She  had  seen 
— not]Maso,but — two  monks,  who  were  approaching  within  a 
few  yards  ol  Iut.  Tlie  edge  of  her  cowl  making  a  jjent-house 
on  her  brow  had  shut  out  the  objects  above  the  level  of  her 
eyes,  and  for  the  last  few  moments  she  had  been  looking  at 
nothing  hut  tlu-  brightness  on  the  jjath  and  at  herown  shatlow, 
tall  and  shrouded  like  a  dread  spectre.  She  wished  now^  that 
ebe  had  not  looked  u]».     ITer  disguise  made  h'jr  especially/ 


E05I0LA.  297 

dislike  to  encoianter  monks  :  they  might  expect  some  pious 
pass-words  of  which  she  knew  nothing,  and  she  walked  along 
with  a  careful  appearance  of  unconsciousness  till  she  had  seen 
the  skirts  of  the  black  mantles  pass  by  her.  The  encounter 
had  made  her  heart  beat  disagreeably ;  for  Romola  had  an 
uneasiness  in  her  religious  disguise,  a  shame  at  this  studied 
concealment,  which  was  made  more  distinct  by  a  special  ef- 
fort to  appear  unconscious  under  actual  glances. 

But  the  black  skills  would  be  gone  the  faster  because  they 
were  going  down  hill ;  and  seeing  a  great  flat  stone  against 
a  cypress  that  rose  from*  a  projecting  green  bank,  she  yielded 
to  the  desire  which  the  slight  shock  had  given  her  to  sit  down 
and  rest. 

She  turned  her  back  on  Florence,  not  meaning  to  look  at  it 
till  the  monks  were  quite  out  of  sight ;  and  raising  the  edge 
of  her  cowl  again  when  she  had  seated  herself,  she  discerned 
Maso  and  the  mules  at  a  distance  where  it  Avas  not  hopeless 
for  her  to  overtake  them,  as  the  old  man  would  probably  linger 
in  expectation  of  her. 

Meanwhile  she  might  pause  a  little.  She  was  free  and 
alone. 


CHAPTER  XXXVni. 

THE    BLACK    MARKS    BECGIME    MAGICAL. 

That  journey  of  Tito's  to  Rome,  which  had  removed  many 
difficulties  from  Romola's  departure,  had  been  resolved  on 
quite  suddenly,  at  a  supper,  only  the  evening  before. 

Tito  had  set  out  towards  that  supper  with  agreeable  ex- 
pectations. The  meats  were  likely  to  be  delicate,  the  wines 
choice,  the  company  distinguished  ;  for  the  place  of  entertain- 
ment was  the  Selva,  or  Orto  de'  Rucellai — or,  as  we  should 
say, the  Rucellai  Gardens;  and  the  host,  Bernardo  Rucellai, 
was  quite  a  typical  Florentine  grandee.  Even  his  family  name 
has  a  significance  which  is  preUily  symbolic  :  properly  under- 
stood, it  may  bring  before  us  a  little  lichen,  popularly  named 
orcella  or  roccella,  which  grows  on  the  rocks  of  Greek  isles  and 
in  the  Canaries  ;  and  having  drunk  a  great  deal  of  light  into 
its  little  stems  and  button-heads,  will,  under  certain  circum- 
stances, give  it  out  again  as  a  reddish  purple  dye,  very  grate- 
ful to  the  eyes  of  me^n.  By  bringing  the  excellent  secret  of 
this  dye,  called  oricello,  from  the  Levant  to  Florence,  a  certain 
merchant,  who  lived  nearly  a  hundred  years  before  our  licr- 
nardo's  time,  won  for  himself  and  his  descendants  much  wealth, 
and  the  pleasantly-suggestive  surname  of  Oricellari,  or  Roc- 

13* 


298 


EOMOI.A. 


ceDari,  whioli  on  Tuscan  tongues  speedily  became  RucelhL 
And  our  IJcrnanlo,  wlio  stands  out  more  y>roniinently  tlian  tl\o 
rest  on  tliis  purple  background,  liail  addt'd  all  sorts  of  dis- 
tinction to  tlie  family  name:  he  had  married  the  sister  of  Lo- 
renzo de'  Medici,  and  had  liad  the  most  Sjileiulid  wedding  in 
the  memorv  of  Florentine  upholstery  ;  and  for  these  and  other 
virtues  he  had  been  sent  on  embassies  to  France  and  Venice, 
and  had  been  chosen  Gonfaloniere  ;  lie  liad  not  only  built  him- 
self a  tine  ))alacc',  but  had  linished  jiutting  the  black  and  white 
marble  fayade  to  the  chuieh  of  Santa  Maiia  Ninclla  ;  he  had 
planted  a  garden  with  rare  trees,  and  hail  made  it  classic 
ground  by  receiving  Avithin  it  the  meetings  of  the  Platonic 
Academy,  orphaned  by  the  death  of  Lorenzo;  lie  had  written 
an  excellent,  learned  book,  of  a  new  to])ogi-ai)hical  sort,  about 
ancient  Home;  he  had  collected  antiquities;  he  had  a  ])ure 
Latinity.  The  simplest  account  of  him  one  sees  reads  like  a 
laudatory  epitaph,  at  the  end  of  which  tlu-  (ilreek  and  Auso- 
nian  IMuses  miglit  be  confidently  requested  to  tenr  tiicir  hair, 
and  Nature  to Mcsist  from  any  second  attemi)t  to  combine  so 
many  virtues  with  one  set  of  viscera. 

I  lis  invitation  had  been  conveyed  to  Tito  through  Lorenzo 
Tornabuoni,  with  an  emphasis  whicli  would  liave  suggested 


UOMOLA.  299 

that  the  object  of  the  gathering  Avas  political,  even  if  the  pub- 
lic questions  of  the  time  had  been  less  absorbing.  As  it  was, 
Tito  felt  sure  that  some  party  purposes  were  to  be  furthered 
by  the  excellent  flavors  of  stewed  fish  and  old  Greek  wine ; 
for  Bernardo  Rucellai  was  not  simply  an  influential  person- 
age, he  was  one  of  the  elect  Twenty  who  for  three  weeks  had 
held  the  reins  of  Florence.  This  assurance  put  Tito  in  the 
best  spirits  as  he  made  his  way  to  the  Via  della  Scala,  where 
the  classic  garden  Avas  to  be  found :  without  it,  he  might  have 
had  some  uneasy  speculation  as  to  whether  the  high  company 
he  would  have  the  honor  of  meeting  was  likely  to  be  dull  as 
well  as  distinguished  ;  for  he  had  had  experience  of  various 
dull  suppers  even  in  the  Rucellai  gardens,  and  especially  of 
the  dull  philoso])hic  sort,  wherein  he  had  not  only  been  called 
upon  to  accept  an  entire  scheme  of  the  universe  (which  would 
have  been  easy  to  him),  but  to  listen  to  an  exDosition  of  the 
same,  from  the  origin  of  things  to  their  complete  ripeness  in 
the  tractate  of  the  philosopher  then  speaking. 

It  was  a  dark  evening,  and  it  was  only  Avhen  Tito  crossed 
the  occasional  light  of  a  lamp  suspended  before  an  image  of 
the  Virgin  that  the  outline  of  his  figure  was  discernible  enough 
for  recognition.  At  such  moments  any  one  caring  to  Avatch 
his  passage  from  one  of  these  lights  to  another  might  have 
obserA'ed  that  the  tall  and  graceful  personage  Avith  the  man- 
tle folded  round  him  Avas  foUoAved  constantly  by  a  A'ery  dif- 
ferent form,  thick-set  and  elderly,  in  a  serge  tunic  and  felt  hat. 
The  conjunction  might  have  been  taken  for  mere  chance,  since 
there  were  many  passengers  along  the  streets  at  this  hour. 
But  Avhen  Tito  stopi:)ed  at  the  gate  of  the  Rucellai  gardens 
the  figure  behind  stopped  too.  The  sportello^  or  smaller  door 
of  the  gate,  Avas  already  being  held  open  by  the  servant,  Avho, 
in  the  distraction  of  attending  to  some  question,  had  not  yet 
closed  it  since  the  last  arrival,  and  Tito  turned  in  rapidly, 
giving  his  name  to  the  servant,  and  passing  on  betAveen  the 
evergreen  bushes  that  shone  like  metal  in  the  torch-liglit. 
The  follower  turned  in  too. 

"  Your  name '?"  said  the  serA'ant. 

"  Baldassarre  Calvo,"  Avas  the  immediate  answer. 

"  You  are  not  a  guest ;  the  guests  have  all  passed." 

"  I  belong  to  Tito  Melema,  AA'ho  has  just  gone  in.     I  am  to 
wait  in  the  gardens." 

The   servant   hesitated.     "  I  had   orders   to   admit   only 
guests.     Are  you  a  servant  of  Messer  Tito  ?" 

"  Xo,  friend,  I  am  not  a  servant ;  I  am  a  scholar." 

There  are  men  to  Avhom  you  need  only  say, "  I  am  a  buffa. 
lo,"  in  a  certain  tone  of  quiet  confidence,  and  they  Avill  let 


300  UOMOLA. 

you  pass.  The  porter  i^^vo  way  at  riico,  TJaldassarrc  cntcrci, 
ivml  lu-anl  the  door  closed  and  eliaiiied  l)t.'liuid  him,  as  he  too 
tlisapjjcured  amonrj  the  shining  bushes. 

Tliose  ready  and  firm  answers  argued  a  great  cliaiige  in 
lialdassarre  since  tlie  hist  meeting  face  to  face  with  Tito, 
wliei)  tlie  dagger  broke  in  two.  The  chanifc  liad  decLared 
itself  in  a  startling  way. 

At  the  moment  when  the  shadow  of  Tito  passed  in  front 
lof  the  Jiovel  as  lie  dej»artetl  homeward,  lialdassarre  was  sit- 
'ting  in  that  state  of  after-tremor  known  to  every  one  who  is 
liable  to  great  outbursts  of  ])assion — a  state  in  whicli  jtliysi- 
cal  ])owerlessness  is  sometimes  accompanied  by  an  exception- 
al lucidity  of  thought,  as  if  that  disengagement  of  cxciled 
passion  had  carried  away  a  fire-mist  and  left  clearness  beliind 
it.  He  felt  unable  to  rise  and  walk  away  just  yet ;  his  limbs 
seemed  benumbed  ;  he  was  cold,  and  his  hand  shook.  IJut 
in  that  bodily  helplessness  he  sat  surrounded,  not  by  the  ha- 
bitual dimness  and  vanishing  shadows, but  by  the  clear  images 
of  the  past:  he  was  living  again  in  an  unbroken  course 
through  that  life  which  seemed  a  long  preparation  for  the 
taste  of  bitterness.  For  some  minutes  he  was  too  thoroughly 
absorbed  by  the  images  to  reflect  on  the  fact  that  he  saw 
them,  and  note  the  fact  as  a  change.  Hut  when  that  sudden 
deaniess  had  travelled  through  the  distance,  and  came  at 
last  to  rest  on  the  scene  just  gone  by,  he  felt  fully  where  ho 
was:  he  remembered  .'Nlonna  Lisa  and  Tessa.  Ah  I  /ic  then 
was  the  mysterious  luisband  ;  he  who  had  another  Avife  in  the 
Via  de'  Bardi,  It  was  time  to  pick  up  the  broken  dagger 
and  go — go  and  leave  no  trace  of  himself;  for  to  hide  his  fee- 
bleness seemed  the  thing  most  like  j)ower  that  was  left  to  him. 
He  leaned  to  take  up  the  fragments  of  the  dagger;  then  he 
turned  towards  the  book  which  lay  open  at  his  side.  It  was 
a  fine  large  manuscript,  an  odd  volume  of  Pausanias.  The 
moonlight  was  upon  it,  and  he  could  see  the  large  letters  at 
the  head  of  the  l)age: 

ME22IINIKA.      KB'. 

In  old  days  he  had  known  Pausanias  familiarly;  yet  an  hour 
or  two  ago  he  had  been  looking  ho])elessly  at  that  ]»age,  and 
it  had  suggested  no  more  meaning  to  him  than  if  the  letters 
had  been  black  weather-marks  on  a  wall ;  but  at  this  mo- 
ment they  Avere  once  more  the  magic  signs  that  conjure  up  a 
world.  That  moonbeam  falling  on  the  letters  had  raised 
Messenia  before  him,  and  its  struggle  against  the  Spartan  op- 
pression. He  snatched  up  the  book,  but  the  light  was  too 
pale  for  hini  to  rea<l  further  by.     Ko  matter;  lie  knew  that 


KOMOLA.  301 

chapter ;  lie  read  inwardly.  He  saw  the  stoning  of  the  traito* 
Aristocrates — stoned  by  a  whole  people,  who  cast  him  out  from 
their  borders  to  lie  unburied,  and  set  up  a  pillar  with  versea 
upon  it,  telling  how  time  had  brought  home  justice  to  the 
unjust.  The  words  arose  within  him,  and  stirred  innumera- 
ble vibrations  of  memory.  He  forgot  that  he  was  old  :  he 
could  almost  have  shouted.  The  light  was  come  again, 
mother  of  knowledge  and  joy  !  In  that  exultation  his  limbs 
lecovered  their  strength.  He  started  up  with  his  broken 
dagger  and  book,  and  went  out  under  the  broad  moonlight. 
It  was  a  nipping  frosty  air,  but  Baldassarre  could  feel  no  chill 
.■ — he  only  felt  the  glow  of  conscious  power.  He  walked  about 
and  paused  on  all  the  open  spots  of  that  high  ground,  and 
looked  down  on  the  domed  and  towered  city,  sleeping  darkly 
under  its  sleeping  guardians,  the  mountains  ;  on  the  pale  gleam 
of  the  river;  on  the  valley  vanislijng  towards  the  peaks  of 
snow ;  and  felt  himself  master  of  them  all.  That  sense  of 
juental  empire  which  belongs  to  us  all  in  moments  of  excep- 
tional clearness  was  intensified  for  him  by  the  long  days 
and  nights  in  which  memory  had  been  little  more  than  the 
consciousness  of  something  gone.  That  city,  which  had  been 
a  weary  labyrinth,  was  material  that  he  could  subdue  to  his 
purposes  now.  His  mind  glanced  through  its  affairs  Avith 
Hashing  conjecture ;  he  was  once  more  a  man  who  knew 
cities,  whose  sense  of  vision  was  instructed  with  lai'ge  expe- 
rience, and  who  felt  the  keen  delight  of  holding  all  things  in 
the  grasp  of  language.  Names  !  Images  !  His  mind  rushed 
through  its  wealth  without  pausing,  like  one  who  enters  on  a 
gi'eat  inheritance. 

But  amidst  all  that  rushing  eagerness  there  was  one  end 
presiding  in  Ilaldassarre's  consciousness — a  dark  deity  in  the 
inmost  cell,  who  only  seemed  forgotten  while  his  hetacomb 
was  being  prepared.  And  when  the  first  triumph  in  the  cer- 
tainty of  recovered  power  had  had  its  Avay  his  thoughts  cen- 
tred themselves  on  Tito.  That  fair  slippery  viper  could  not 
escape  him  now.  Thanks  to  struggling  justice,  the  heart  that 
never  quivered  with  tenderness  for  another  had  its  sensitive 
selfish  fibi-es  that  could  be  reached  by  the  sharp  point  of  an- 
guish. The  soul  that  bowed  to  no  right  bowed  to  the  great 
ford  of  mortals.  Pain. 

He  could  search  into  every  secret  of  Tito's  life  now :  he 
knew  some  of  the  secrets  already,  and  the  failure  of  the  bro- 
ken dagger,  Avhich  seemed  like  frustration,  had  been  the  be- 
ffinnino;  of  achievement.     Doubtless  that  sudden  rao^e  had 

■  •  

shaken  away  the  obstruction  which  stifled  his  soul.     Twice 
before,  when  his  memory  had  partially  returned,  it  had  been 


302  ROMOLA. 

ill  C()ns('(|U('iic  cf  sudik'H  excitation;  once  wlien  lii-  Imd  liud 
lo  (U'l'end  himself  iVum  an  enrau;eil  ilo<i; ;  once  when  he  had 
been  overtaken  by  the  waves  and  had  had  to  scramble  np  a 
rock  to  save  hiniseltl 

Ves ;  bnt  it"  this  time,  as  t}ien,tlie  lijjjht  wi'iv  to  die  out, 
and  the  dreary  e<.)nseioiis  blank  eonie  back  a^ain !  Tiiia 
time  tlie  light  was  stronger  and  steadier;  l)nt  what  security 
was  tliere  that  before  the  morrow  the  dark  fog  would  nut  be 
nnuid  him  again  V  P^ven  the  fear  seemed  like  the  beginning 
of  feebleness  :  he  thought  with  alarm  that  he  might  sink  the 
faster  for  tliis  excited  vigil  of  his  on  the  liill,  which  was  ex 
])t'niling  his  force;  and  after  seeking  anxiously  for  a  slielter- 
ed  corner  whei-e  he  might  lie  down,  he  nestled  at  last  against 
a  lieaj)  of  warm  garden  straw,  and  so  fell  asleej). 

When  he  oj)eneil  his  eyes  again  it  was  dayliglit.  The 
lirst  moments  were  tilled  with  strange  bewilderment:  he 
was  a  man  with  a  double  identity  ;  to  whicli  had  he  awaked  ? 
— to  the  life  of  dim-sighted  sensibilities,  like  the  sad  heirship 
of  some  fallen  greatness,  or  to  the  life  of  recovered  power? 
Surely  the  last,  for  the  events  of  the  night  all  came  back  to 
him:  the  recognition  of  the  page  in  Pausanias  ;  the  crowd- 
ing resurgence  of  facts  and  names;  the  sudden  wide  pros- 
pect which  had  given  him  such  a  moment  as  that  of  the 
McCnad  in  the  glorious  amaze  of  her  morning  waking  on  tlie 
mountain  top.  lie  took  uj)  tlie  book  again;  he  read;  he  re- 
membered without  reading.  lie  saw  a  name,  and  the  images 
of  deeds  rose  with  it;  he  saw  the  mention  of  a  deed,  and  he 
linked  it  with  a  name.  There  Avcre  stories  of  inexpiable 
crimes,  but  stories  also  of  guilt  that  seemed  successful.  Tliere 
were  sanctuaries  for  swift-footed  miscreants  ;  baseness  had 
its  armor,  and  the  weapons  of  justice  sometimes  broke  against 
it.  What  then?  If  l)aseness  triumphed  everywhere  else, 
if  it  could  heap  to  itself  all  the  goods  of  the  -world,  and  even 
h(d<l  tlie  keys  of  hell,  it  would  never  triumph  over  the  ha- 
tred itself  awaked.  It  coulil  devise  no  torture  that  would 
Hcem  greater  than  the  torture  of  submitting  to  its  smile. 
Baldassarre  felt  the  indestructible,  independent  Ibrce  of  a 
supreme  emotion,  Avhicli  knows  no  terror  and  asks  for  no  mo- 
tive— which  is  itself  an  ever-burning  motive,  consuming  all 
other  desire.  And  now,  in  this  morning  light,  when  the  as- 
surance came  again  that  thi'  iini'  libres  of  association  wero 
active  still,  and  that  his  recovered  self  had  not  dej)arted,  all 
his  gladness  was  but  the  Iiojh'  of  vengeance. 

From  that  time  till  the  evening  on  which  we  have  seen 
liim  enter  the  l{ucellai  gardens  he  had  been  incessantly,  but 
cautioMnh ,  incpiiring  into  Tito's  position  and  all  liia  circura- 


KOMOLA.  303 

Stances ;  and  there  was  hardly  a  day  on  which  he  did  not 
contrive  to  follow  his  movements.  But  he  Avished  not  to 
arouse  any  alarm  in  Tito  ;  he  wished  to  secure  a  moment 
when  the  hated  favorite  of  blind  fortune  was  at  the  summit 
of  confident  ease,  surrounded  by  chief  men  on  whose  favor  ho 
depended.  It  was  not  any  retributive  payment  or  recogni- 
tion of  himself  for  his  own  behoof  on  which  Baldassarre's 
whole  soul  was  bent :  it  was  to  find  the  sharpest  edge  of 
disgrace  and  shame  by  which  a  selfish  smiler  could  be 
pierced  ;  it  was  to  send  through  his  marrow  the  most  sud- 
den shock  of  dread.  He  was  content  to  lie  hard  and  live 
stintedly — he  had  spent  the  greater  part  of  his  remaining 
money  in  buying  another  poniard  :  his  hunger  and  his  thirst 
were  after  nothing  exquisite  but  an  exquisite  vengeance.  He 
had  avoided  addressing  himself  to  any  one  whom  he  suspected 
of  intimacy  with  Tito,  lest  an  alnrm  raised  in  Tito's  mind 
should  urge  him  either  to  flight,  or  to  some  other  counteract- 
ing measure  which  hard-pressed  ingenuity  might  devise. 
For  this  reason  he  had  never  entered  Nello's  shop,  which  he 
observed  that  Tito  frequented  ;  and  he  had  turned  aside  to 
avoid  meeting  Piero  di  Cosinio. 

The  possibility  of  frustration  gave  added  eagerness  to  his 
desire  that  the  great  opportunity  he  sought  should  not  be 
deferred.  The  desire  was  eager  in  him  on  another  ground : 
he  trembled  lest  his  memory  should  go  again,  Whether 
from  the  agitating  presence  of  that  fear,  or  from  some  other 
causes,  he  had  twice  felt  a  sort  of  mental  dizziness,  in  which 
the  inward  sense  or  imagination  seemed  to  be  losing  the  dis- 
tinct forms  of  things.  Once  he  had  attempted  to  enter  the 
Palazzo  Vecchio  and  make  his  way  into  a  council-chamber 
where  Tito  Avas,  and  had  failed.  But  now  on  this  evening 
he  felt  that  his  occasion  was  come. 


CHAPTER  XXXTX. 

A  SUPPER  IX  THE  RUCELLAI  GARDENS, 

On  entering  the  handsome  pavilion  Tito's  quick  glance 
soon  discerned  in  the  selection  of  the  guests  the  confirmation 
of  his  conjecture  that  the  object  of  the  gathering  AAas  politi- 
cal, though,  perhaps,  nothing  more  distinct  than  that  strength- 
ening of  party  Avhich  comes  from  good-fellowship.  Good 
dishes  and  good  Avine  Avere  at  that  time  believed  to  heighten 
the  consciousness  of  political  preferences  ;  and  in  the  inspired 
ease  of  after-supper  talk  it  Avas  supposed  that  people  ascer 


304  ROMOLA. 

tainc'd  tl»eir  own  opinions  witli  a  cloan\css  quite  inacccssiMa 
to  tiniii\iti'(l  stuinaclis.  Tlie  Florcntiiu.-.  wt'iv  a  sober  ami 
tViiiral  jtt'opk';  Ijut  wlifivver  men  have  gatliered  •wealth 
^lailomia  <lella  Gozzovig;lia  and  San  Buonvino  have  had  tlieir 
worshippers  ;  and  tlie  IJucellai  were  amon;:;  tlie  i'vw  F'h)rentinp 
laniilies  who  kept  a  great  table  and  lived  si»leiididly.  It  was 
not  probable  that  on  this  evening  there  woulil  be  any  at- 
tempt to  apply  liigh  philosoj)hic  tlieorics;  and  there  could  bo 
no  ol)jection  to  the  bust  of  Plato  looking  on,  or  even  to  the 
modest  ])reseiK'e  of  the  cartlinal  viitues  in  i'reseo  on  the  walls. 

That  bust  of  Plato  had  been  long  used  to  look  down  on 
conviviality  of  a  more  transcendental  sort,  for  it  had  been 
brought  from  Lorenzo's  villa  after  his  death,  Avhen  the  meet- 
ings of  tlie  Platonic  Academy  had  been  transferred  to  these 
gardens.  Especially  on  every  thirteenth  of  November,  re- 
l)uted  anniversary  of  Plato's  death,  it  had  looked  from  under 
laurel  leaves  at  a  j)icked  company  of  scholars  and  jihiloso- 
phers,  wlio  met  to  eat  and  drink  with  moderation,  and  to  dis- 
cuss and  admire,  perhaps  with  less  moderation,  the  doctrines 
of  the  great  master — on  Pico  dclla  Mirandola,  once  a  Quixotic 
young  genius,  with  long  curls,  astonislied  at  his  own  powers, 
and  astonisliing  Rome  witli  heterodox  theses;  afterwards  a 
more  humble  student,  with  a  consuming  ])assion  for  inward 
pertecti(ni,  having  come  to  iind  the  universe  more  astonishing 
th.iii  his  own  cleverness — on  innocent,  laborious  Marsilio Fici- 
no,  picked  out  young  to  be  reared  as  a  Platonic  pliilosoj)her, 
antl  fed  on  Plattmism  in  all  its  stages  till  his  mind  was  per- 
haps a  little  pulpy  from  that  too  exclusive  diet — on  Angelo 
Poliziano,  chief  literary  genius  of  that  age,  a  born  ])oet,  and 
a  scholar  without  dullness,  Avhose  phrases  had  blood  in  them 
and  aie  alive  still — or,  farther  back,  on  Leon  I5at tista  AIIuMti, 
a  reverend  senior  when  those  three  were  young,  and  of  a 
nnicli  grander  type  than  they — a  robust,  universal  mind,  at 
once  ))ractical  and  theoretic,  artist,  man  of  science,  inventor, 
poet;  and  on  many  more  valiant  workers  -whose  names  are 
not  registered  where  every  day  we  turn  the  leaf  to  read 
them  ;  but  whose  labors  make  a  jiart,  though  an  um-ecog- 
nized  part,  of  our  inheritance,  like  the  j)loughing  and  sowing 
of  ])ast  generations. 

JJernardo  Rucellai  Avas  a  man  to  hold  a  distinguished 
place  in  that  Academy  even  before  he  became  its  host  and 
])atron.  He  w^s  still  in  tlie  ])riine  of  life,  not  more  than  four 
and   forty,  with    a    somewhat    hauglity,  cautiouslv-tli'jniiied 

1)resence;  conscious  of  an  amazini^ly  jnire  Latinity,  but,  says 
Erasmus,  not  to  be  caught  s))eakiiig  Latin — no  -word  of  Latin 
to  l>e  sheared  ofl"  him  i)y  the  shaijx'st  of  Teutons.     lie  wel- 


ROMOLA.  305 

coined  Tito  with  more  marked  favor  than  usual,  and  gave 
him  a  place  between  Lorenzo  Tornabuoni  and  Giannozzo  Puc- 
ci,  both  of  them  accomplished  young  members  of  the  Medi- 
cean  party. 

Of  course,  the  talk  was  the  lightest  in  the  world  while  the 
brass  bowl,  tilled  with  scented  water,  was  passing  round,  that 
the  company  might  wash  their  hands,  and  rings  flashed  on 
white  fingers  under  the  wax-lights,  and  there  was  the  pleas- 
«ant  fragrance  of  fresh  white  damask  newly  come  from 
France.  The  tone  of  remark  was  a  very  common  one  in 
those  times.  Some  one  asked  what  Dante's  pattern  old  Flor- 
entine Avould  think  if  the  life  could  come  into  him  again 
under  his  leathern  belt  and  bone  clasp,  and  he  could  see 
silver  forks  on  the  table.  And  it  was  agreed  on  all  hands 
that  the  habits  of  posterity  would  be  very  surprising  to  an- 
cestors, if  ancestors  could  only  know  them.  And  Avhile  the 
silver  forks  Averejust  dallying  with  the  appetizing  delicacies 
that  introduced  the  more  serious  business  of  the  supper — such 
as  morsels  of  liver,  cooked  to  that  exquisite  point  that  they 
would  melt  in  the  mouth — there  was  time  to  admire  the 
designs  on  the  enamelled  silver  centres  of  the  brass  service, 
and  to  say  something,  as  usual,  about  the  silver  dish  for  con- 
fetti,  a  masterpiece  of  Antonio  Pollajuolo,  whom  patronizing 
Popes  had  seduced  from  his  native  Florence  to  more  gor- 
geous Rome. 

"  Ah !  I  remember,"  said  Niccolo  Ridolfi,  a  middle-aged 
man,  with  that  negligent  ease  of  manner  which,  seeming  to 
claim  nothing,  is  really  based  on  the  life-long  consciousness 
of  commanding  rank — "  I  remember  our  Antonio  getting  bit- 
ter about  his  chiselling  and  enamelling  of  these  metal  things, 
and  taking  in  a  fury  to  painting,  because,  said  he, '  the  artist 
who  puts  his  w^ork  into  gold  and  silver  puts  bis  brains  into 
the  melting-pot." 

"And  that  is  not  unlikely  to  be  a  true  foreboding  of  An- 
tonio's," said  Giannozzo  Pucci.  "If  this  pi-etty  war  with 
Pisa  goes  on,  and  the  revolt  only  spreads  a  little  to  our  other 
towns,  it  is  not  only  our  silver  dishes  that  are  likely  to  go  ;  I 
doubt  whether  Antonio's  silver  saints  round  the  altar  of  San 
■'Giovanni  will  not  some  day  vanish  from  the  eyes  of  the 
faithful  to  be  worshi]>ped  more  devoutly  in  the  form  of  coin." 

"  The  Frate  is  preparing  us  for  that  already,"  said  Torna- 
buoni. "He  is  telling  the  people  that  God  will  not  have 
silver  crucifixes  and  starving  stomachs  ;^  and  that  the  church 
is  best  adorned  with  the  gems  of  holiness  and  the  fine  gold 
of  brotherly  love." 

"A  very  useful  doctrine  of  war-finance,  as  many  a  Condot« 


30G  ROMOLA. 

ticre  has  found,"  said  J^ernardo  Kiicellai,  dryly  "But  poll« 
tics  fODic  oil  attiT  the  roiifdtl^  Lorcn/o,  wIk'ii  wc  cau  drink 
wine  eiiougli  to  wasli  llic'n\  down  ;  tlicy  are  too  solid  to  be 
taken  with  roast  and  boiletL'' 

''Yv^,  indeed,"  said  Niccolo  IJidolfi.  "Our  Lui^i  Pule 
would  have  said  this  delicate  boiled  kitl  must  be  eaten  with 
an  iin|)artial  mind.  I  remember  one  day  at  C'aretrgi,  whea 
Lul^^i  was  in  Ids  rattling  vein,  he  was  maiiitainiiig  that  noth- 
ing perverted  the  palate  like  o])inioii.  '  Opinion,'  said  he, 
'(Corrupts  the  saliva — that's  why  men  took  to  ])epper.  Skep- 
ticism is  the  only  philosophy  that  doesn't  brin<4  a  taste  in 
the  mouth.'  '  Nay,'  says  poor  Lorenzo  de'  Meclici, '  you  nuist 
be  out  there,  Luigi.  Here  is  this  untainted  skej)tie,  ^latteo 
Franco,  who  wants  hotter  sauce  than  any  of  us.'  'Because  lie 
has  a  strong  opinion  o^  hhnself\^  flashes  out  Luigi, '  which  is 
tlie  oriijiiuil  ^^y^]*  of  all  other  opinion.  Jfc  a  skeptic?  lb; 
believes  in  the  immortality  of  his  own  verses.  He  is  such  a 
logician  as  that  preaching  friar  who  described  the  pavement 
of  the  bottondess  ]»it.'  Poor  Luigi  !  his  mind  was  like  sharp- 
est steel,  that  can  touch  nothing  without  cutting." 

"  And  yet  a  very  gentle-hearted  creature,"  said  Giannozzo 
Pucci.  "It  seemed  to  me  Ids  talk  was  a  mere  blowing  of 
soap-bubbles.  What  dithyrambs  he  went  into  about  eating 
and  driukiiig  !  and  yet  hv  was  as  temperate  as  a  butterfly." 

The  light  talk  and  the  solid  eatables  were  not  soon  at  an 
end;  forafter  the  roast  and  boiled  meats  came  the  indispen- 
sable cai)on  and  game,  and,  crowning  glory  of  a  Avell-spiead 
table,  a  peacock  cooked  according  to  the  recipe  of  A))icius  for 
cooking  ])artridges,  namely,  with  the  feathers  on,  but  not 
phicked  alu-rwards,  as  that  great  authority  ordered  concern- 
ing his  partiidges;  on  the  eontiary,  so  disposed  on  the  dish 
that  it  might  look  as  iiuk  li  as  possible  like  a  live  ])cacoek 
takiii<^  its  uidioilcd  r(']i(>sc'.  (Ireat  was  the  skill  recpnred  in 
that  conlideutial  si'rvant  who  was  the  oflicial  carvi'i',  resix'cl- 
fuUy  to  turn  the  classical  though  insipid  bird  on  its  back,  and 
expose  the  ))lucked  breast  from  which  he  was  to  dispense  a 
delicate  slice  to  each  of  the  honorable  company,  unless  any 
one  should  be  of  so  iudepejident  a  mind  as  to  decline  that  ex- 
pensive toughness,  and  prefer  the  vulgar  digestibility  of 
capon. 

Hardly  any  one  was  so  bold.  Tito  quoted  Horace,  and 
dispersed^  liis  slice  in  small  particles  over  his  plate  ;  Bernardo 
liucellai  made  a  learned  f)bservation  about  tlie  ancient  price 
of  ])eacocks'  eggs,  but  did  not  ])retend  to  eat  his  slice;  and 
Niccolo  Bidolli  held  a  mouthful  on  Ins  fnk  while  he  told  a 
favorite  story  of  Luigi  J'ulci's  about  a  muu  of  Siena,  wlio, 


KOMOLA.  307 

wanting  to  give  a  splendid  entertainment  at  moderate  ex- 
peuoe,  bought  a  wild  goose,  cut  oft*  its  beak  and  webbed  feet, 
and  boiled  it  in  its  feathers,  to  pass  for  a  pea-hen. 

Ill  tact  very  little  peacock  was  eaten;  but  there  was  the 
satisfaction  of  sitting  at  a  table  where  peacock  was  served  up 
in  a  remarkable  manner,  and  of  knowing  that  such  caprices 
were  not  within  reach  of  any  but  those  who  suj^ped  with  the 
very  wealthiest  men.  And  it  Avould  have  been  rashness  to 
speak  slightingly  of  peacock's  llesh,  or  any  other  venerable 
institution  at  a  time  when  ¥rn  Girolamo  was  teaching  the  dis- 
turbing doctz-hie  vhat  it  Avas  not  the  duty  of  tlie  rich  to  be 
luxurious  for  tlie  sake  of  the  poor. 

Meanwiiile,  ia  the  chill  obscurity  that  surrounded  this  cen- 
tre of  warmth,  and  light,  and  savory  odors,  the  lonely  disown- 
ed man  was  walking  in  gradually  narrowing  circuits.  He 
paused  among  the  trees,  and  looked  in  at  the  windows,  which 
made  brilliant  pictures  agaiuist  the  gloom.  He  could  hear 
the  laughter;  he  could  see  Tito  gesticulating  with  careless 
grace,  and  hear  his  voice,  now  alone,  now  mingling  in  the 
merry  confusion  of  interlacing  speeches.  Baldassarre's  mind 
Avas  highly  strung.  He  was  preparing  himself  for  the  mo- 
ment when  he  could  win  his  entrance  into  this  brilliant  com- 
pany; and  he  had  a  savage  satisfaction  in  the  sight  of  Tito's 
easy  gayety,  which  seemed  to  be  preparing  the  unconscious 
victim  for  more  eftective  torture. 

But  the  men  seated  among  the  branching  tapers  and  the 
flashing  cups  could  know  nothing  of  the  pale  fierce  face  that 
watched  them  from  without.  The  light  can  be  a  curtain  as 
well  as  tlie  darkness. 

And  the  talk  went  on  with  more  eagerness  as  it  became 
less  disconnected  and  trivial.  The  sense  of  citizenship  was 
just  then  strongly  forced  even  on  the  most  indififerent  minds. 
What  the  overmastering  Fra  Girolamo  Avas  saying  and 
prompting  was  really  uppermost  in  the  thoughts  of  every  one 
at  table;  and  before  the  stewed  fish  was  removed,  and  Avhile 
the  favorite  sweets  were  yet  to  come,  his  name  rose  to  the 
surface  of  the  conversation,  and,  in  spite  of  Rucellai's  previous 
prohibition,  the  talk  again  became  political.  At  first,  Avhile 
the  servants  remained  ]n-esent,  it  was  mere  gossip  :  what  had 
been  done  in  the  palazzo  on  this  first  day's  voting  for  the 
Gi'eat  Council;  how  hot-tempered  and  domineering  Frances- 
co Valori  was,  as  if  lie  were  to  liave  every  thing  his  own  way 
by  right  of  his  austere  virtue  ;  and  how  it  was  clear  to  every 
boJy  who  heard  Soderini's  speeches  in  fovor  of  the  Great 
Council,  and  also  heard  the  Frate's  sermons,  that  they  were 
both  kneaded  in  the  same  trough. 


30H  UOMOLA. 

"  ]My  opinion  is,"  said  Niccolo  liitlolfi,  "  tliat  tho  Fratc  liaa 
a  loiiLjcT  licad  tor  |»ul)lic  inattris  tliaii  Sodt'iini  or  any  J'la- 
f/noiif  anH>.ng  tliL-ui  :  you  may  di-pi-nd  on  it  that  Sodcrini  is  liiti 
mouth-piece  more  than  he  is  Soderini's." 

"No,  Niccolo;  tliere  I  ditt'er  from  you,"  said  Bernardo 
]{iH'ellai :  "  tlie  Frate  luis  an  acute  nund,  and  readily  sees 
what  will  servo  his  own  ends:  but  it  is  not  likely  that  Pa- 
golantonio  Soderini,  Avho  has  liad  long  experience  of  aftairs, 
and  lias  s])ecially  studied  the  \'eiietian  ('ouncil,  should  be 
much  indebted  to  a  monk  Ibr  ideas  on  that  suljject.  No, 
no  :  Soderini  loads  the  cannon ;  though,  I  grant  you,  Fra 
Girolamo  brings  the  powder  and  lights  the  match,  lie  is 
master  of  the  jjcojde,  and  the  ])eoi)le  are  getting  nuister  t)f  us. 
Ecco  !" 

"  Well,"  said  Lorenzo  Tornabuoni,  presently,  Avhcif  the 
room  was  clear  of  servants,  and  nothing  but  wine  was  ])assing 
round,'"  whither  Soderini  is  indebted  or  not,  wc'  are  indebted 
to  the  Pirate  for  the  general  amnesty  which  has  gone  along 
with  the  scheme  of  the  Council.  AVe  might  have  dune  with- 
out the  fear  of  God  and  the  reform  of  morals  being  passed  by 
a  majority  of  black  beans  ;  but  that  excellent  proposition, 
that  our  Mediccan  heads  should  be  allowed  to  remain  com- 
fortably on  our  shoidders,  and  that  we  sbould  not  be  obliged 
to  hand  over  our  ])roperty  in  fines,  has  my  warn!  a))proval, 
and  it  is  my  belief  that  nothing  but  tlie  Frate's  predominance 
could  have  ]»rocurcd  that  for  us.  And  you  may  rely  on  it 
that  Fi-a  Girolamo  is  as  firm  as  a  rock  on  that  i)oint  of  })ro- 
moting  peace.     1  have  had  an  intervicAV  with  him." 

Tiiere  was  a  murmur  of  surprise  and  curiosity  at  the  far- 
ther end  of  the  table;  but  Hernardo  Ivucellai  simply  nod<l('d, 
as  if  he  knew  what  'J'ornabuoni  had  to  say,  and  wished  him 
to  go  on. 

"Yes,"  proceeded  Tornabuoni,"!  have  been  favored  with 
an  interview  in  the  Frate's  o^vn  cell,  which,  let  me  tell  you, 
is  not  a  common  favor;  for  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  even 
Francesco  Valori  very  seldom  sees  him  in  private.  However, 
I  think  lie  saw  me  the  more  willingly  because  I  was  not  a 
ready-made  follower,  but  had  to  be  converted.  And,  for  my 
part,  I  sec  clearly  enough  that  the  only  safe  and  wise  policy 
for  us  Mciliceans  to  pursue  is  to  throw  our  stri-ngth  into  the 
scale  of  the  Frate's  ])arty.  We  are  not  strong  enough  to 
make  liead  on  our  own  behalf;  and  if  the  P'rate  and  the  pop- 
ular ]):irty  were  upset,  every  one  who  hears  me  knows  )>er- 
fectly  well  what  other  ])arty  would  be  u]i]M'rmost  just  now: 
Nerli,  Albiz/i,  I'az/.i,  and  the  rest  —  .trr'i/>/>/"ff\  as  somebody 
christened  them  the  other  day — who,  instead  of  giving  us  an 


ROMOLA.  309 

amnesty,  would  be  inclined  to  fly  at  our  throats  like  mad 
clogs,  and  not  be  satisfied  till  they  had  banished  half  of  us." 

There  Avere  strons;  interjections  of  assent  to  this  last  sen- 
tence of  Tornabuoui's  as  he  paused  and  looked  round  a  mo- 
ment. 

"A  wise  dissimulation,"  he  went  on,  "  is  the  only  course  for 
moderate  rational  men  in  times  of  violent  party  feeling.  I 
need  hardly  tell  this  company  what  are  my  real  political  at- 
tachments :  I  am  not  the  only  man  here  who  has  strong  per- 
sonal ties  to  the  banished  family  ;  but,  apart  from  any  such 
ties,  I  agree  with  my  more  experienced  friends,  who  are  allow- 
ing me^o  speak  for  them  in  their  presence,  that  the  only  last- 
ing and  peaceful  state  of  things  for  Florence  is  the  predomi- 
nance of  some  single  family  interest.  This  theory  of  the 
Frate's,  that  we  are  to  have  a  popular  government,  in  which 
every  man  is  to  strive  only  for  the  general  good,  and  know 
no  party  names,  is  a  theory  that  may  do  for  some  isle  of 
Cristoforo  Colombo's  finding,  but  will  never  do  for  our  fine 
old  quarrelsome  Florence.  A  change  must  come  before  long, 
and  Avith  patience  and  caution  we  have  every  chance  of  de- 
termining the  change  in  our  favor.  Meanwhile,  the  best 
thing  we  can  do  wiltbe  to  keep  the  Frate's  flag  flying,  for  if 
any  other  were  to  be  hoisted  just  now  it  Avould  be  a  black 
flag  for  us." 

""  It's  true,"  said  Kiccolo  Ridolfi,  in  a  curt,  decisive  way, 
"  WTiat  you  say  is  true,  Lorenzo.  For  my  own  part,  I  am  too 
old  for  any  body  to  believe  that  I've  changed  my  feathers. 
And  there  are  certain  of  us — our  old  Bernardo  del  Nero  for 
one — whom  you  Avould  never  persuade  to  borrow  another 
man's  shield.  But  we  can  lie  still  like  sleepy  old  dogs  ;  and 
it's  clear  enough  that  barking  would  be  of  no  use  just  now. 
As  for  this  psalm-singing  party,  who  vote  for  nothing  but  the 
glory  of  God,  and  want  to  make  believe  we  can  ail  love  each 
other,  and  talk  as  if  vice  could  be  swept  out  Avith  a  besom 
by  the  Magnificent  Eight,  their  day  Avill  not  be  a  long  one. 
After  all  the  talk  of  scholars,  there  are  but  two  sorts  of  gov- 
ernment :  one  where  men  show  their  teeth  at  each  other,  and 
one  where  men  show  their  tongues  and  lick  the  feet  of  the 
strongest.  They'll  get  their  Great  Council  finally  voted  to- 
morrow— that's  certain  enough — and  they'll  think  thcv've 
found  out  a  new  plan  of  government ;  but  as  sure  as  there  s 
a  human  skin  under  every  lucco  in  the  Council,  their  new  plan 
will  end  like  every  other,  in  snarling  or  in  licking.  That's 
my  view  of  things  as  a  j)lain  man.  Xot  that  I  consider  it  be- 
coming in  men  of  family  and  following,  who  have  got  others 
depending  on  their  constancy  and  on  their  sticking  to  their 


310  ROMOLA. 

coioi"s,  to  rjo  n  Inintihi?  with  a  fine  net  to  catch  reasons  in 
the  air,  likf  doctors  of  hiw.  I  say  iraiikly  that,  as  tlie  head 
of  my  lliniily,  I  shall  be  true  to  my  old  alliaiu-cs  5^  and  I  have 
never  yet  seen  any  chalk-mark  on  political  reasons  to  tell  me 
whitli  is  true  and  which  is  false.  My  friend  IJernardo  liu- 
cellai  here  is  a  man  of  reasons,  1  know,  and  Tve  no  objection 
to  any  body's  finding  fine-spun  reasons  for  me,  so  that  they 
don't  interfere  with  my  actions  as  a  man  of  lamily  who  hns 
jiiith  to  keep  witli  his  connections." 

"If  that  is  an  ai)peal  to  me,  Niccolo,"  said  ]>ernardo  Ku- 
cellai,  with  a  f(jrmal  ilignity,  in  amusing  contrast  with  Ki- 
dolfi's  curt  and  i)ithy  ease,  "  I  may  take  this  opportunity  of 
saying,  that  while  my  wishes  are  i)artly  deti'rmined  by  long- 
standing ])ersonal  relations,  I  can  not  enter  into  any  positive 
schemes  witli  persons  over  Avhose  actions  I  have  no  control. 
I  myself  might  be  content  with  a  restoration  of  the  old  onler 
of  things;  i)ut  with  modifications — with  imjiortant  moilitica- 
tions.  And  tlie  one  ))oint  on  which  1  wish  to  declare  my  con- 
currence Avith  Lorenzo  Tornabuoni  is,  that  the  best  policy  to 
be  ])ursue(l  by  our  friends  is  to  throw  the  weight  of  their  in- 
terest into  the  scale  of  the  popular  party.  For  myself,  1  con- 
descend to  no  dissimulation  ;  nor  do  I  at  present  see  the  ])ar- 
ty  or  the  scheme  that  commands  my  full  assent.  In  all  alike 
there  is  crudity  and  confusion  of  ideas,  and  of  all  the  twenty 
men  who  are  my  colleagues  in  the  ])resent  crisis,  there  is  not 
one  with  whom  I  do  not  find  myself  in  wide  disagreement." 

Kiccolo  IJidoIfi  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  left  it  to  some 
one  else  to  take  u])  the  ball.  ^Vs  the  wine  went  round  the 
talk  became  more  and  more  frank  and  lively,  and  the  desire 
of  several  at  once  to  be  the  chief  sjieaker,  as  usual  caused  the 
company  to  break  up  into  small  knots  of  two  and  three.  It 
was  a  result  which  had  been  ibreseen  by  Lorenzo  Toi'n.abuoni 
and  (iiannozzo  Pucci,  and  they  were  among  the  first  to  turn 
aside  irom  the  high  road  of  general  talk,  and  enter  into  a 
spi'cial  conversation  with  Tito,  who  sat  between  them;  gratl- 
nally  ]»ushing  away  their  seats,  and  turning  tlieir  backs  on 
the  table  and  wini'. 

"In  truth,  ^lelema,"  Tornabuoni  was  saying  at  this  stage, 
laying  one  hose-clad  leg  across  the  knee  of  the  other,  and  ca- 
ressing his  ankle,  "I  know  of  no  man  in  Florence  who  can 
serve  our  party  better  than  you.  You  see  Avhat  most  of  our 
I'riends  are:  men  who  can  lu)  more  hide  their  ])rejudices  than 
a  dog  can  hi<le  the  natural  tone  of  his  bark,  or  else  men  Avhose 
political  ties  art-  so  notorious  that  they  must  always  be  ob- 
jects of  susj)icion.  (Tiammzzo  here,  and  1, 1  fiattei-  myself,  are 
tible  to  overcome  that  suspicion  :  we  have  that  power  of  con- 


EOMOLA.  31?, 

cealment  and  finesse,  witliout  which  a  rational  cultivated  man, 
instead  of  having  any  prerogative,  is  really  at  a  disadvantage 
compared  Avith  a  wild  ball  or  a  savage.  But,  except  yourself, 
I  know  of  no  one  else  on  whom  we  could  rely  for  the  necesv 
sary  discretion." 

"  Yes,"  said  Giaimozzo  Pucci,  laying  his  hand  on  Tito's 
shoulder,  "  the  fact  is,  Tito  jnio,  yon  can  help  us  better  than 
if  you  were  Ulysses  himself,  for  I  am  convinced  that  Ulysses 
often  made  himself  disagreeable.  To  manage  men  one  ought 
to  have  a  sharp  mind  in  a  velvet  slieath.  And  there  is  not  a 
soul  in  Florence  who  could  undertake  a  business  like  this 
journey  to  Rome,  for  example,  with  the  same  safety  that  you 
can.  Tliere  is  your  scholarship,  which  may  always  be  a  pre- 
text for  such  journeys ;  and  what  is  better,  there  is  your  tal- 
ent, which  it  would  be  harder  to  match  than  your  scholar- 
ship. Niccolo  ]Macchiavelli  might  have  done  for  us  if  he  had 
been  on  our  side,  but  hardly  so  well.  He  is  too  much  bitten 
with  notions,  and  has  not  your  power  of  fascination.  All  the 
worse  for  him.  He  has  lost  a  great  chance  in  life,  and  you 
have  got  it." 

"  Yes,"  said  Tornabuoni,  lowering  his  A'oice  in  a  significant 
manner,  "  you  have  only  to  play  your  game  Avell,  Melema,  and 
the  future  belongs  to  you.  For  the  Medici,  you  may  rely  upon 
it,  will  keep  a  foot  in  Rome  as  Avell  as  in  Florence,  and  the  tim.; 
may  not  be  far  oft"  when  they  will  be  able  to  make  n  finer 
career  for  their  adherents  even  than  they  did  in  oM  days. 
Why  shouldn't  you  take  orders  some  day  ?  There"^  a  car- 
dinal's hat  at  the  end  of  that  road,  and  you  would  not  be 
the  first  Greek  Avho  has  Avorn  that  ornament." 

Tito  laughed  gayly.  He  Avas  too  acute  not  to  measure 
Tornabuoni's  exaggerated  flattery,  but  still  the  flattery  had  a 
pleasant  flavor. 

"  My  joints  are  not  so  stifi"  yet,"  he  said,  "  that  I  can't  be 
induced  to  run  Avithout  such  a  high  prize  as  that.  I  think 
the  income  of  an  abbey  or  tAvo  held  '  in  commendam,'  Avith- 
out  the  trouble  of  getting  my  head  shaved,  would  satisfy  me 
hi  present." 

"  I  Avas  not  joking,"  said  Tornabuoni,  Avith  grave  suavity  ; 
"I  think  a  scholar  AA'ould  ahvays  be  the  better  ofi'for  taking 
orders.  But  we'll  talk  of  that  another  time.  One  of  the  ob- 
jects to  be  first  borne  in  mind,  is  that  you  should  Avin  the 
confidence  of  the  men  Avho  hang  about  San  Marco  ;  that  is 
■ft'hat  Giannozzo  and  I  shall  do,  but  you  may  carry  it  farther 
than  we  can,  because  you  are  less  observed.  In  that  way 
you  can  get  a  thorough  knowledge  of  their  doings,  and  a^ou 
will  make  a  broader  screen  for  your  agency  on  our  siae. 


312  ROMOLA. 

!Nothin<JC  of  course  can  bo  done  before  you  start  for  Rome, 
because  tliis  hit  of  business  bctwi'iMi  I'iero  de'  Mt'dici  and 
the  French  nobles  must  be  etleeted  at  once.  1  mean  when 
you  come  back,  of  course ;  I  need  say  no  more.  I  believe 
vou  could  make  yourself  the  pet  votary  of  San  ]\Iarco,  if  you 
liked  ;  but  you  are  Avise  enou<rh  to  know  that  etiective  dis- 
Bimuhition  is  never  immoderate." 

"  if  it  were  not  that  an  adhesion  to  the  popular  side  is  neces- 
sary to  your  safety  as  an  agent  of  our  ]>aity,  7'/7o  //#/o,"  said 
Giamiozzo  l*ucci,  who  was  more  fraternal  ;uid  less  itatroiiiz- 
ing  in  his  manners  than  Tornabuoni,  "  I  could  have  M'ished 
your  skill  to  have  been  employed  in  another  M-ay,  for  which 
it  is  still  better  fitted.  But  now  we  must  look  out  for  some 
other  man  among  us  who  Avill  manage  to  get  into  the  confi- 
dence of  our  sworn  enemies,  tlie  Arrabbiati;  we  need  to 
know  their  movements  mure  than  those  of  the  Frate's  ]iarty, 
who  are  strong  enough  to  i)lay  aboveboard.  Still  it  would 
liave  been  a  difticult^thing  for  you,  from  your  known  rela- 
tions with  the  Medici  a  little  while  back,  and  that  sort  of  kin- 
ship your  wife  has  with  Bernardo  del  Ner(».  We  must  find 
a  man  who  has  no  distinguished  connections,  and  who  has 
not  vet  taken  any  side." 

Tito  was  pushing  his  hair  back  automatically,  as  his  man- 
ner was,  and  looking  straiglit  at  I'ucci  with  a  scarcely  i)er- 
ceptible  smile  on  his  lip. 

"  No  need  to  look  out  for  any  one  else,"  he  s.aid,  prom[.t- 
ly  ;  "  I  can  manage  the  whole  business  with  |)erfect  ease.  I 
will  enirage  to  make  myself  the  s]K'cial  confidant  of  that  thick- 
heade<f  lic)lfo  Spini,  aiid  know  Ids  projects  before  he  knows 
them  himself" 

Tito  seldom  spoke  so  confidently  of  his  own  powers,  but 
he  was  in  a  state  of  exaltation  at"  the  sudden  opening  of  a 
new  path  before  him,  where  fortuiu'  seemed  to  have  hung  high- 
er ])rizes  then  any  he  had  thought  of  hitherto.  Hitherto  he 
had  seen  success 'only  in  the  forni  of  fiivor  ;  it  now  flashed  on 
liim  in  the  shape  of  power — of  such  ])ower  as  is  possible  to  tal- 
ent without  traditional  ties,  and  without  beliefs.  Each  party 
that  thouglit  of  him  as  a  tool  might  become  dependent  on  hini. 
His  position  as  an  alien,  his  inditVerenee  to  the  ideas  or  prej- 
udices of  the  men  among  whom  he  moved,  were  suddeidv 
transformed  into  advantages;  he  became  newly  conscious  of 
his  own  adroitness  in  the  liresence  of  a  game  that  he  was  called 
on  to  plav.  And  all  the  motives  which  might  have  made 
Tito  shrin'k  from  tlie  triple  deceit  that  came  before  him  as  a 
temptim:  Lcanie,  had  been  slowlv  strangled  in  him  by  the  suo* 
eessive  i'alsitii'S  i>f  his  life 


EOMOLA.  3^3 

Our  lives  make  a  moral  tradition  for  our  individual  selves, 
as  the  life  of  mankind  at  large  makes  a  moral  tradition  foi 
the  race  ;  and  to  have  once  acted  greatly  seems  to  make  a 
reason  why  we  should  always  be  noble.  But  Tito  was  feeU 
ing  the  effect  of  an  opposite  tradition  ;  he  had  won  no  mem- 
ories of  self-conquest  and  perfect  faithfulness  from  which  he 
could  have  a  sense  of  falling. 

The  triple  colloquy  went  on  with  growing  spirit  till  it  was 
interrupted  by  a  call  from  the  table.  Probably  the  move- 
ment came  from  the  listeners  in  the  party,  who  were  afraid 
lest  the  talkers  should  tire  themselves.  At  all  events,  it  was 
agreed  that  there  had  been  enough  gravity,  and  Rucellai  had 
just  ordered  new  flasks  of  Montepulciano. 

"  How  many  minstrels  are  there  among  us  ?"  he  said, 
when  there  had  been  a  general  rallying  round  the  table. 
"Melema,  I  think  you  are  the  chief:  Matteo  will  give  you 
the  lute." 

"  Ah,  yes !"  said  Giannozzo  Pucci, "  lead  the  last  chorus 
from  Poliziano's  Orfeo,  that  you  have  found  such  an  excellent 
measure  for,  and  we  will  all  iall  in  : 


'5 


Ciascnn  segua,  o  Bacco,  te ; 
Bacco,  Bacco,  evoe,  evoe  !" 

The  servant  put  the  lute  into  Tito's  hands,  and  then  said 
something  in  an  under-tone  to  his  master,  A  little  subdued 
questioning  and  answering  Avent  on  between  them,  while 
Tito  touched  the  lute  in  a  preluding  way  to  the  sti-ain  of  the 
chorus,  and  there  was  a  confusion  of  speech  and  musical  hum- 
ming all  round  the  table.  Bernardo  Rucellai  had  said,  "  Wait 
a  moment,  Melema ;"  but  the  words  had  been  unheard  by  Tito, 
who  was  leaning  towards  Pucci,  and  singing  low  to  him  the 
plirases  of  the  Ma^nad-choi-us.  He  noticed  nothing  until  the 
buzz  round  the  table  suddenly  ceased,  and  the  notes  of  his 
own  voice,  with  its  soft,  low-toned  triumph,  "Evoe,  evoe  !" 
fell  in  startling  isolation. 

It  was  a  strange  moment.  Baldassarre  had  moved  round 
the  table  till  he  was  opposite  Tito,  and  as  the  hum  ceased 
there  might  be  seen  for  an  instant  Baldassarre's  fierce  dark 
eyes  bent  on  Tito's  bright  smiling  unconsciousness,  Avhile  the 
low  notes  of  triumph  dropped  from  his  lips  into  the  silence. 

Tito  looked  up  with  a  slight  start,  and  his  lips  turned 
l)ale,  but  he  seemed  hardly  more  moved  than  Giannozzo 
Pucci,  who  had  looked  up  at  the  same  moment  —  or  even 
than  several  others  round  the  table  ;  for  that  sallow,  deep^ 
lined  face  with  the  hatred  in  its  eyes  seemed  a  terrible  ap 
parition  across  the  wax-lit  ease  and  gayety.    And  Tito  quick 

14 


8  1  4  KOMOLA. 

iy  rccovcrcfl  sonio  self-command.  "A  mad  old  man — no 
looks  like  it — lii'  /.v  mad  !"  was  the  iiistaiitaiic<Mis  tli<)u<THt 
that  brout^ht  some  courage  witli  it ;  lor  he  cnuld  conjecture 
no  inward  change  in  Baldassarre  since  they  had  met  bel'ore. 
lie  just  let  his  eyes  fall  and  laid  the  lute  on  the  table  with 
apparent  ease;  but  his  lingers  pinched  the  neck  of  the  lute 
liard  while  he  governed  his  head  and  his  glance  sullicicntly 
to  look  with  an  air  of  quiet  appeal  towards  IJernardo  Kucellai, 
who  said  at  once — 

"Good  man,  what  is  your  business?  "What  is  the  impor- 
tant declaration  that  you  have  to  make?" 

"  Messer  Bernardo  Kucellai,  I  wish  you  and  your  honor- 
able friends  to  know  in  Avhat  sort  of  com])anv  vou  are  sittinLj. 
There  is  a  traitor  among  you." 

There  was  a  general  movement  of  alarm.  Every  onepreS' 
ent,  excejU  Tito,  thought  of  political  danger,  and  not  of  pri- 
vate injuiy. 

Baldassarre  began  to  speak  as  if  he  were  thoroughly  as- 
sured of  what  he  had  to  say  :  but,  in  spite  of  his  long  prepa- 
ration for  this  moment,  there  was  the  tremor  of  overmaster- 
ing excitement  in  his  voice.  His  ])assion  shook  him.  He 
went  on,  but  he  did  not  say  wdiat  he  had  meant  to  say.  As 
he  fixed  his  eyes  on  Tito  again  the  passionate  words  were 
like  blows — they  defied  i)remeditation. 

"There  is  a  man  among  you  Avho  is  a  scoundrel,  a  liar,  a 
robber.  I  was  a  father  to  liini.  I  took  him  from  beggary 
"when  he  was  a  child.  I  reared  him,  I  cherished  him,  I  taught 
iiim,  I  made  him  a  scholar.  ]My  head  has  lain  hnrd  that  his 
might  have  a  pillow.  And  lie  left  me  in  slavery ;  he  sold 
the  gems  that  were  mine,  and  when  I  came  attain  he  denied 
me.'' 

The  last  Avords  had  been  uttered  with  almost  convulsed 
agitation,  and  Baldassarri'  j»aused,  trembling.  ,\11  glances 
Avere  turned  on  Tito,  who  was  now  looking  straight  at  Bal- 
dassarre. It  was  a  moment  of  desperation  that  anniliilated 
all  feeling  in  him,  except  the  determination  to  risk  any  thing 
for  the  chance  of  esca]>e.  And  he  g.ithered  confidence  fiom 
the  agitation  by  which  Baldassarre  was  evidently  shaken. 
He  had  ceased  to  pinch  the  neck  of  the  lute,  and  had  thrust 
his  thumbs  into  his  l)elt,  while  his  li]is  had  begun  to  assume 
a  slight  curl.  He  had  never  yet  done  an  act  of  murderous 
cruelty  even  to  the  smallest  animal  that  could  utter  a  cry, 
but  at  that  moment  he  would  have  been  caj)able  of  treading 
the  breath  from  a  smiling  child  for  the  sake  of  his  own  safety. 

"  What  does  this  mean,  Melema?"  said  Bernardo  Bucellai, 
in  a  tone  of  cautious  surprise.     He,  as  well  as  the  rest  of  tho 


^EOMOLA.  315 

company,  felt  relieved  that  the  tenor  of  the  accusation  was 
not  political. 

"  Messer  Bernardo,"  said  Tito,  "  I  believe  this  man  is  mad. 
I  did  not  recognize  him  the  first  time  he  encountered  me  in 
Florence,  but  I  knoAV  now  that  he  is  the  servant  who  years 
ago  accompanied  me  and  my  adoptive  father  to  Greece,  and 
was  dismissed  on  account  of  misdemeanors.  His  name  is 
Jacopo  di  Xola.  Even  at  that  time  I  believe  his  mind  was 
unhinged,  for,  without  any  reason,  he  had  conceived  a  strange 
hatred  towards  me  ;  and  now  I  am  convinced  that  he  is  labor- 
ing under  a  mania  which  causes  him  to  mistake  his  identity. 
He  has  already  attempted  my  life  since  he  has  been  in  Flor- 
ence, and  I  am  in  constant  danger  from  him.  But  he  is  an 
object  of  pity  rather  than  of  indignation.  It  is  too  certain 
that  my  father  is  dead.  You  have  only  my  word  for  it ;  but 
I  must  leave  it  to  your  judgment  how  far  it  is  probable  that 
a  man  of  intellect  and  learning  would  have  been  lurking 
about  in  dark  corners  for  the  last  month  with  the  piirpose  of 
assassinating  me  ;  or  how  far  it  is  probable  that,  if  this  man 
were  my  second  father,  I  could  have  any  motive  for  denying 
him.  That  story  about  my  being  rescued  from  beggary  is 
the  vision  of  a  diseased  brain.  But  it  will  be  a  satisfaction 
to  me  at  least  if  you  Avill  demand  from  him  proofs  of  his  iden- 
tity, lest  any  malignant  person  should  choose  to  make  this 
mad  impeachment  a  reproach  to  me." 

Tito  had  felt  more  and  more  confidence  as  he  went  on : 
the  lie  was  not  so  difiicult  when  it  was  once  begun  ;  and  as 
the  words  fell  easily  from  his  lips,  they  gave  him  a  sense  of 
power  such  as  men  feel  when  they  have  begun  a  muscular 
feat  successfully.  In  this  way  he  acquired  boldness  enough 
to  end  with  the  challenge  for  proofs. 

Baldassarre,  Avhile  he  had  been  walking  in  the  gardens, 
and  afterwards  waiting  in  an  outer  room  of  the  pavilion  with 
the  servants,  had  been  making  anew  the  digest  of  the  evi- 
dence he  Avould  bring  to  prove  his  identity  and  Tito's  base- 
ness, recalling  the  description  and  history  of  his  gems,  and  as- 
suring himself  by  rapid  mental  glances  that  he  could  attest 
his  learning  and  his  travels.  It  might  be  partly  owing  to 
this  nervous  strain  that  the  new  shock  of  rage  that  he  felt  as 
Tito's  lie  fell  on  his  ears  brought  a  strange  bodily  eftect  with 
it;  3  cold  stream  seemed  to  rush  over  him,  and  the  last  words 
of  the  speech  seemed  to  be  drowned  by  ringing  chimes. 
Thouglit  gave  way  to  a  dizzy  horroi",  as  if  the  earth  were 
slipping  away  from  under  him.  Every  one  in  the  room  was 
looking  at  him  as  Tito  ended,  and  saw  that  the  eyes  which 
had  had  such  fierce  intensity  only  a  few  minutes  before  had  a 


316  KOMOLA. 

vai^ue  fear  in  them.     lie  clutclied  the  back  of  a  seat,  and  was 
Bik'Jit. 

Hardly  any  evidence  could  have  been  more  in  favor  of 
Tito's  assertion. 

"Surely  I  have  seen  this  man  before,  somewhere,"  said 
Tornabuoni. 

"  Certainly  you  have,"  said  Tito,  readily,  in  a  low  tone. 
"lie  is  tne  escaped  prisoner  who  clutched  me  on  tlu;  stej)9 
of  the  Duomo.  I  did  not  recognize  him  then  ;  he  looks  now 
more  as  he  used  to  do,  except  that  he  has  a  more  unmistaka- 
ble air  of  mad  imbecility." 

"  I  cast  no  doubt  on  your  word,  ]\Ielema,"  said  Bernardo 
Ruccllai,  with  cautious  gravity  ;  "but  you  are  right  to  desire 
some  ])ositive  test  of  the  fact."  Then  turning  to  iialdassarre, 
he  said,  "  If  you  are  the  person  you  claim  to  be,  you  can  doubt- 
less give  some  description  of  the  gems  which  were  your  proj> 
erty.  I  myself  was  the  purchaser  of  more  than  one  gem  Irom 
Messer  Tito — the  chief  rings,  I  believe,  in  his  collection.  One 
of  them  is  a  fine  sard,  engraved  Avith  a  subject  from  Homer. 
If,  as  you  allege,  you  are  a  scholar,  and  the  rightful  owner  of 
that  ring,  you  can  doubtless  turn  to  the  noted  2>assage  in  Ho- 
mer froni  Avhich  that  subject  is  taken.  Do  you  accept  this 
test,  Melcma  ?  or  have  you  any  thing  to  allege  against  its 
validity  ?     The  Jacopo  you  speak  of,  was  he  a  scholar  ?" 

It  was  a  fearful  crisis  for  Tito.  If  he  said  "Yes,"  Ids 
quick  mind  told  him  that  he  would  shake  the  credibility  of 
liis  story  :  if  he  said  "No,"  he  risked  every  thing  on  the  un- 
certain extent  of  Baldassarre's  imbecility.  But  there  was  no 
noticeable  pause  before  he  said, "  No.     I  accept  tlie  test." 

There  was  a  dead  silence  while  Kucellai  moved  towards  tlie 
recess  where  the  books  were,  and  came  back  with  the  fine 
P^lorentine  Homer  in  his  hand.  Jialdassarrc,  when  he  was  ad- 
dressed, had  turned  his  head  towards  the  speaker,  and  Rucellai 
believed  that  he  ha<l  understood  him.  But  he  chose  to  re- 
peat v.'hat  he  had  said,  that  tlicre  might  be  no  mistake  as  to 
the  test. 

"  The  ring  I  possess,"  lie  said, "  is  a  fine  sard,  engraved  with 
a  subject  iVoni  Homer.  There  was  no  other  at  all  I'cscmbliiig 
it  in  Messer  Tito's  collection.  Will  you  turn  to  the  passage 
in  Homer  from  wluch  that  subject  is  taken?  Seat  yourself 
liere,"  he  added,  laying  the  book  on  the  table,  and  pointing  to 
his  own  seat  while  he  stood  beside  it. 

lialdassarre  liad  so  far  recovered  from  the  first  confused 
horror  jiroduced  by  the  sensation  of  rushing  coldness  and 
chiming  din  in  the  ears  as  to  be  partly  aware  of  what  was 
said  to  him;  he  was  aware  that  something  was  being  demand- 


ROMOLA,  317 

ed  from  him  to  prove  his  identity,  but  lie  formed  no  distinct 
idea  of  the  details.  The  sight  of  the  book  recalled  the  ha- 
bitual longing  and  faint  hope  that  he  could  read  and  under- 
stand, and  he  moved  towards  the  chair  immediately.  The 
book  was  open  before  him,  and  he  bent  his  head  a  little  towards 
it,  while  every  body  watched  him  eagerly.  He  turned  no  leaf. 
His  eyes  wandered  over  the  pages  that  lay  before  him,  and  then 
fixed  on  them  with  a  straining  gaze.  This  lasted  for  two  or 
three  minutes  in  dead  silence.  Then  he  lifted  his  hands  to 
each  side  of  his  head,  And  said,  in  a  low  tone  of  despair,  "  Lost, 
lost !" 

There  was  something  so  piteous  in  the  wandering  look  and 
the  low  cry^  that,  while  they  confirmed  the  belief  in  his  mad- 
ness, they  raised  compassion.  Xay,  so  distinct  sometimes  is 
the  working  of  a  double  consciousness  within  us,  that  Tito 
himself,  Avhile  he  triumphed  in  the  apparent  verification  of  his 
lie,  wished  that  he  had  never  made  the  lie  necessary  to  him- 
self—wished he  had  recognized  his  father  on  the  steps — M'ish- 
ed  he  had  gone  to  seek  him — wished  every  thing  had  been 
different.  But  he  had  borrowed  from  the  terrible  usurer 
Falsehood,  and  the  loan  had  mounted  and  mounted  with  the 
years,  till  he  belonged  to  the  usurer  body  and  soul. 

The  compassion  excited  in  all  the  witnesses  was  not  with- 
out its  danger  to  Tito;  for  conjecture  is  constantly  guided 
by  feeling,  and  more  than  one  person  suddenly  conceived 
that  this  man  might  have  been  a  scholar  and  have  lost  his 
faculties.  On  the  other  hand,  they  had  not  present  to  their 
minds  the  motives  which  could  have  led  Tito  to  the  denial 
of  his  benefactor,  and  having  no  ill-will  towards  him,  it  would 
have  been  difficult  to  them  to  believe  that  he  had  been  utter- 
ing the  basest  of  lies.  And  the  originally  common  type  of 
Baldassarre's  person,  coarsened  by  years  of  hardship,  told  as 
a  confirmation  of  Tito's  lie.  If  Baldassarre,  to  begin  Avith, 
could  have  uttered  precisely  the  Avords  he  had  premeditated, 
there  might  have  been  something  in  the  form  of  his  accusa- 
tion Avhich  Avould  have  given  it  the  stamp,  not  only  of  true 
experience,  but  of  mental  refinement.  But  there  had  been 
no  such  testimony  in  his  impulsive,  agitated  words  ;  and 
there  seemed  the  very  opposite  testimony  in  the  rugged  face, 
and  the  coarse  hands  that  trembled  beside  it,  standing  out  in 
strong  contrast  in  the  midst  of  that  velvet-clad,  fair-handed 
company.  His  next  movement,  Avhile  he  Avas  being  Avatched 
in  silence,  told  against  him  too.  He  took  his  hands  from  his 
head,  and  felt  for  something  under  his  tunic.  Every  one 
guessed  Avhat  that  movement  meant — guessed  that  there  Avas 
a  weapon  at  his  side.     Glances  Avere  interchanged,  and  Ber* 


318  ROMOLA. 

nanlo  TJucclIai  said,  in  a  quiet  tone,  touching  Baldassarrc's 
shoulder, 

"My  friend,  this  is  iln  itii))(>it:uit  business  of  yours.  You 
shall  have  all  justice.     Follow  me  into  a  private  room." 

lialdassarre  was  still  in  that  half-stunned  state  in  which 
he  was  susceptible  to  any  proni])tin'^f,  in  the  same  way  as  an 
insect,  that  forms  no  conception  of  what  the  prompting  leads 
to.  lie  rose  from  his  seat,  and  followed  Kucellai  out  of  the 
room. 

In  two  or  three  minutes  Rucellai  came  back  again,  and 
said  : 

"He  is  safe  under  lock  and  key.  Piero  Pitti,  you  are  one 
of  the  ^Magnificent  Eight;  what  do  you  think  of  our  sending 
Matteo  to  the  palace  for  a  couple  of  sbirri,y,ho  may  escort 
him  (o  the  Stinche?*  If  there  is  any  danger  in  liim,  as  I 
think  ihere  is,  he  will  be  safe  there ;  and  we  can  inquire  about 
him  to-morrow." 

Pitti  assented,  and  the  order  was  given. 

"He  is  certainly  an  ill-looking  fellow,"  said  Tornabuoni. 
"And  you  say  he  lias  attempted  your  life  already,  Melema  V" 

And  the  talk  turned  on  the  various  forms  of  madness,  and 
the  fierceness  of  the  southern  blood.  If  the  seeds  of  conjec- 
ture unfavorable  to  Tito  had  been  planted  in  the  mind  of  any 
one  present,  they  were  hardly  strong  enough  to  grow  without 
the  aid  of  much  daylight  and  ill-will.  The  common-looking, 
wild-eyed  old  man,  clad  in  serge,  might  have  won  In-lief  with- 
out very  strong  evidence,  if  he  had  accused  a  man  who  was 
envied  and  disliked.  As  it  was,  the  only  congruous  and  prob- 
able view  of  the  case  seemed  to  be  the  one  that  sent  the  un- 
pleasant accuser  safely  out  of  sight,  and  left  the  pleasant, 
serviceable  Tito  just  where  he  was  before. 

The  subject  gradually  floated  away,  and  gave  place  to 
others,  till  a  heavy  tramp,  and  something  like  the  struggling 
of  a  man  who  was  beinii-  drasitred  awav,  were  heaid  outside, 
riie  sounds  soon  died  out,  and  tlie  interruj»tit)n  seemed  to 
make  the  last  hour's  conviviality  more  resolute  and  vigorous. 
Every  one  was  -willing  to  Ibrget  a  disagreeable  incident. 

Tito's  heart  Avas  j)alpitating,  and  the  wine  tasted  no  bet- 
tor to  him  than  if  it  had  been  blood. 

To-night  he  liad  paid  a  heavier  ])rice  than  ever  to  make 
himself  sal'c.  He  did  not  like  the  j)rice,  and  yet  it  was  inevi- 
table that  he  sliould  be  glad  of  the  ])urchase. 

Ami  afti-r  all  he  led  the  chorus.  lie  was  in  a  state  of  ex- 
citement in  which  oppi-essivi'  sensations,  and  the  wretched 
consciousness  of  something  hateful  but  irrevocable,  were  min* 
*  The  largest  prison  in  Florence. 


■KOMOLA.  319: 

gled  with  a  feeling  of  triumph  which  seemed  to  assert  itself 
as  the  feeling  that  would  subsist  and  be  master  of  the  mor« 

row. 

And  it  was  master.  For  on  the  morrow,  as  we  saw,  when 
he  was  about  to  start  on  his  mission  to  Rome,  he  had  the  air 
of  a  man  well  satisfied  with  the  world. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

AN   ARRESTING   VOICE. 

When  Romola  sat  down  on  the  stone  under  the  cypress,  all 
things  conspired  to  give  her  the  sense  of  freedom  and  soli- 
tude :  her  escape  from  the  accustomed  walls  and  streets ;  the 
widening  distance  from  her  husband,  who  was  by  this  time 
riding  toward  Siena,  while  every  hour  would  take  her  farther 
on  the  opposite  way ;  the  morning  stillness ;  the  great  dip  of 
ground  on  the  road-side  making  a  gulf  between  her  and  the 
sombre  calm  of  the  mountains.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life 
she  felt  alone  in  the  presence  of  the  earth  and  sky,  with  no 
liuman  presence  interposing  and  making  a  law  for  her. 

Suddenly  a  voice  close  to  her  said, 

"  You  are  Romola  de'  Bardi,  the  wife  of  Tito  Melema." 

She  knew  the  voice :  it  had  vibrated  through  her  more  than 
once  before ;  and  because  she  knew  it  she  did  not  turn  round 
to  look  up.  She  sat  shaken  by  awe,  and  yet  inwardly  rebelling 
against  the  awe.  It  was  one  of  those  black-skirted  monks  who 
was  daring  to  speak  to  her,  and  interfere  with  her  privacy : 
that  was  all.  And  yet  she  was  shaken,  as  if  that  destiny  which 
men  thought  of  as  a  sceptred  deity  had  come  to  her  and  grasp- 
ed her  with  fingers  of  fiesh. 

"  You  are  fleeing  from  Florence  in  disguise.  I  have  a  com- 
mand from  God  to  stop  you.  You  are  not  permitted  to 
flee." 

Romola's  angei'  at  the  intrusion  mounted  higher  at  these 
imperative  words.  She  would  not  turn  round  to  look  at  the 
speaker,  whose  examining  gaze  she  resented.  Sitting  quite 
motionless,  she  said, 

"  What  right  have  you  to  speak  to  me,  or  to  hinder  me  ?" 

"  The  right  of  a  messenger.  You  have  ])ut  on  a  religious 
garb,  and  you  have  no  religious  purpose.  You  have  sought 
the  garb  as  a  disguise.  But  you  Avere  not  suffered  to  pass 
me  without  being  discerned.  It  was  declared  to  me  who  you 
were :  it  is  declared  to  me  that  you  are  seeking  to  escape 
from  the  lot  God  has  laid  upon  you.     You  wish  your  truo 


320  UOMOLA. 

name  and  your  true  plaoo  in  life  to  be  lnil<len,  tlint  you  may 
fln)()se  for  yourself  a  new  name  and  a  new  ])laee,  and  have  no 
rule  but  your  own  will.  And  I  have  a  command  to  call  you 
back.     JVfy  daughter,  you  must  return  to  your  jilaee." 

Komola'.s  miml  rose  in  stronirer  rebellion  with  every  sen- 
tence. She  was  the  more  determined  not  to  show  any  sitjn  of 
Bubmission,  because  the  consciousness  of  beint;  inwardly  shak- 
en made  her  dread  lest  she  should  fall  into  irresolution.  Sht 
Dpoke  with  more  irritation  than  before. 

"  I  will  not  return.  I  acknowledge  no  right  of  priests  and 
monks  to  interfere  with  my  actions.  You  have  no  power 
over  me." 

"  I  know — I  know  you  have  been  brought  nj)  in  scorn  oi 
obedience.  But  it  is  not  the  poor  monk  who  claims  to  inter- 
fere with  you  ;  it  is  the  truth  tliat  commands  you.  And  you 
can  not  escape  it.  Either  you  must  obey  it,  and  it  will  lead 
you;  or  you  must  disobey  it,  and  it  will  hang  on  you  with 
the  weight  of  a  chain  which  you  will  drag  forever.  Jiut  you 
will  obey  it,  my  daughter.  Your  old  servant  will  return  to 
you  with  the  mules:  my  comi)aniou  is  gone  to  fetch  him  ;  and 
you  will  go  back  to  Florence." 

She  started  up  with  anger  in  her  eyes  and  faced  the  speaker. 
It  wrs  Fra  Girolamo :  she  knew  that  well  enough  before. 
She  was  nearly  as  tall  as  he  was,  and  their  faces  were  almost 
on  a  level.  She  had  started  I'p  with  defiant  words  ready  to 
burst  from  her  lips,  but  they  fell  back  again  without  utterance. 
She  had  met  Fra  Girolamo's  calm  glance,  and  the  impression 
from  it  Avas  so  new  to  her  that  her  anger  sank  ashamed  as 
something  irrelevant. 

There  was  nottiing  transcendent  in  Savonarola's  face.  It 
was  not  beautiful.  It  was  strong-featured,  and  owed  all  its 
refnicment  to  habits  of  mind  and  rigid  discipline  of  the  body. 
The  source  of  the  impression  his  glance  jtroduced  on  Uoinola 
was  the  sense  it  conveyed  to  her  of  interest  in  lii-r,  and  care 
for  her,  apart  from  any  personal  feeling.  It  was  the  first  time 
she  had  encountered  a  gaze  in  which  sinijile  human  fi-llowship 
expressed  itself  as  a  strt)ngly-felt  bond.  Such  a  glance  is  half 
the  vocation  of  the  priest  or  spiritual  guide  of  men,  and  Komo- 
la  felt  it  impossible  again  to  <[uestion  his  authority  to  speak  to 
her.     She  stood  silent,  looking  at  him.     And  he  s]K»ke  again. 

"  \ou  assert  your  freedom  ])r()udly,  my  daughter.  I>ut 
who  is  so  base  as  the  debtor  that  thinks  himself  free?" 

There  was  a  sting  in  those  words,  and  Komola's  countenance 
changed  as  if  a  subtle  ])ale  ilash  had  gone  over  it. 

"And  you  are  flying  from  your  debts:  the  debt  of  a  Flor« 
entino  woman ;  the  debt  of   a  wife.     You  are  turning  yoiuf 


ROMOLA.  32] 

back  on  the  lot  that  has  been  appointed  for  you — you  are  go- 
ing to  choose  another.  But  can  man  or  woman  choose  duties  ? 
No  more  than  they  can  choose  their  birth-phice,  or  their  fa- 
ther and  mother.  My  daugliter,  you  are  fleeing  from  the 
presence  of  God  into  the  wilderness." 

As  the  anger  melted  from  Romola's  mind,  it  had  given  place 
to  a  new  presentiment  of  the  strength  there  might  be  in  sub- 
mission, if  this  man,  at  whom  she  was  beginning  to  look  with 
a  vague  reverence,  had  some  valid  law  to  show  her.  But  no 
— it  was  impossible  ;  he  could  not  know  what  determined  her. 
Yet  she  could  not  again  simply  refuse  to  be  guided  ;  she  was 
constrained  to  plead ;  and  in  her  new  need  to  be  reverent  while 
she  resisted,  the  title  which  she  had  never  given  him  before 
came  to  her  lips  without  forethought, 

"  My  father,  you  can  not  know  the  reasons  which  compel 
me  to  go.  None  can  know  them  but  myself.  None  can  judge 
for  me.  I  have  been  driven  by  great  sorrow.  I  am  resolved 
to  go." 

"  I  know  enough,  my  daughter :  my  mind  has  been  so  far 
illuminated  concerning  you  that  I  know  enoiigh.  You  are  not 
happy  in  your  married  life  ;  but  I  am  not  a  confessor,  and  I 
seek  to  know  nothing  that  should  be  reserved  for  the  seal  of 
confession.  I  have  a  divine  warrant  to  stop  you,  which  does 
not  depend  on  such  knowledge.  You  were  warned  by  a  mes- 
sage from  heaven,  delivered  in  my  presence — you  were  warned 
before  marriage,  when  you  might  still  have  lawfully  chosen  to 
be  free  from  the  marriage  bond.  But  you  chose  the  bond ; 
and  in  willfully  breaking  it — I  speak  to  you  as  a  pagan,  if  the 
holy  mystery  of  matrimony  is  not  sacred  to  you — you  are 
breaking  a  pledge.  Of  what  wrongs  will  you  complain,  my 
daughter,  when  you  yourself  are  committing  one  of  the  great- 
est wrongs  a  v;oman  and  a  citizen  can  be  guilty  of — withdraw- 
ing in  secrecy  and  disguise  from  a  pledge  which  you  have 
given  in  the  face  of  God  and  your  fellow-men  ?  Of  what 
wrongs  will  you  complain,  when  you  yourself  are  breaking  the 
simplest  law  that  lies  at  the  foundation  of  the  trust  Avhich  binds 
man  to  man — faithfulness  to  the  spoken  Avord  ?  This,  then,  is 
the  wisdom  yoii  have  gained  by  scorning  the  mysteries  of  the 
Church  ? — not  to  see  the  bare  duty  of  integrity,  where  the 
Church  would  have  taught  you  to  see,  not  integrity  only,  but 
religion." 

The  blood  had  rushed  to  Romola's  face,  and  she  shrank  aa 
if  she  had  been  stricken.  "  I  would  not  have  put  on  a  disguise," 
she  began  ;  but  she  could  not  go  on — she  was  too  much  shakeq 
by  the  suggestion  in  the  Frate's  Avords  of  a  possible  affinity  bfy 
tween  her  own  conduct  and  Tito'f?, 


322  aoMOLA. 

"  And  to  break  tliat  pledge  you  fly  from  Florence — Florence, 
where  there  are  the  only  men  and  women  in  the  world  to  whom 
you  owe  the  debt  of  a  fi-llow-eiti/.i'ii." 

"  I  should  never  have  c]uiited  Florence,"  said  Roniola,  trem« 
ulously,  "  as  long  as  there  was  any  hope  of  my  fultilling  a  duty 
to  my  father  there." 

"  And  do  you  own  no  tie  but  that  of  a  cliild  to  her  father 
in  the  llesh  V  Your  life  has  been  sj)ent  in  blindness,  my  daugh- 
ter. You  have  lived  with  those  who  sit  on  a  hill  aloof,  and 
look  down  on  the  life  of  their  fellow-men.  I  know  their  vain 
discourse.  It  is  of  what  has  been  in  the  times  which  they  fill 
with  their  own  fancied  wisdom,  while  they  scorn  God's  work 
in  the  present.  And  doubtless  you  were  taught  how  there 
were  pagan  women  who  felt  what  it  was  to  live  for  the  re]iub- 
lic;  yet  you  have  never  felt  that  you,  a  Florentine  woman, 
should  live  for  P'lorence.  If  your  own  people  are  wearing  a 
yoke,  will  you  slip  from  under  it,  insteail  of  struggling  with 
them  to  ligliten  it?  Tliere  is  hunger  and  misery  in  our  streets, 
yet  you  say,  '  I  care  not ;  I  have  my  own  sorrows ;  I  will  go 
away,  if  peradventure  I  can  ease  them.'  The  servants  of  God 
are  struggling  after  a  law  of  justice,  jieace,  and  charity,  that 
the  luuidred  thousand  citizens  among  whom  you  were  born 
may  be  governed  righteously ;  but  you  think  no  more  of  that 
than  if  you  were  a  bird,  that  may  spread  its  wings  and  tly 
whither  it  will  in  search  of  ioad  to  its  liking.  And  yet  you  have 
scorned  the  teaching  of  the  Church,  my  daughter.  As  if  you, 
a  willful  wanderer,  following  your  own  blind  choice,  were  not 
below  the  humblest  Florentine;  woman  who  stretches  forth  her 
hands  with  her  own  jieople,  and  craves  a  blessing  for  them; 
an<l  feels  a  close  sisterhood  with  the  neighbor  who  kneels  be- 
side her  and  is  not  of  her  own  blood  ;  and  thinks  of  the  mighty 
puri)Ose  that  (iod  has  for  Florence;  and  waits  and  endures 
because  the  j)romised  work  is  great,  and  she  feels  herself  little." 

'•  I  was  not  going  away  to  ease  and  self-indulgence,"  said 
Tiomola,  raising  her  head  again,  with  a  jiroiujiting  to  vindicate 
herself.  "  I  was  going  away  to  hardshi]).  1  expect  no  joy  : 
it  is  gone  from  my  life." 

"  You  are  seeking  your  own  will,  my  daughter.  You  aro 
seeking  some  good  other  than  the  law  you  are  bound  to  obey. 
But  how  will  you  iind  good  ?  It  is  not  a  thing  of  choice:  it 
is  a  river  that  flows  from  the  foot  of  the  Invisible  Throne,  and 
flows  by  the  jiath  of  obeclience.  I  say  again,  man  can  not 
choose  his  duties.  You  may  choose  to  forsake  your  duties, 
and  choose  not  to  have  the  sorrow  they  bring,  liut  you  will 
go  forth  ;  and  what  will  you  And,  iny  daughter  ?  Sorrow  with- 
out duty — bitter  herbs,  and  no  bread  with  them." 


ROMOLA.  323 

"  But  if  you  knew,"  said  Romola,  clasping  her  hands  and 
pressing  tliem  tight,  as  she  looked  pleadingly  at  Fra  Girolamo — • 
"  if  you  knew  what  it  was  to  me — how  impossible  it  seemed 
to  me  to  bear  it." 

"  My  daughter,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the  cord  round  Romo- 
la's  neck,  '•  you  carry  something  within  your  mantle ;  draw  it 
fortli  and  look  at  it." 

Romola  gave  a  slight  start,  but  her  impulse  now  was  to 
3o  just  what  Savonarola  told  her.  Her  self-doubt  was  grap- 
pled by  a  stronger  will  and  a  stronger  conviction  than  her 
own.  She  drew  forth  the  crucifix.  Still  pointing  towards  it, 
he  said, 

, "  There,  my  daughter,  is  the  image  of  a  Supreme  Offering, 
made  by  Supreme  Love,  because  the  need  of  man  was  great." 

He  paused,  and  she  held  the  crucifix  trembling — trembling 
under  a  sudden  impression  of  the  wide  distance  between  her 
present  and  her  past  self.  What  a  length  of  road  she  had 
travelled  through  since  she  first  took  that  crucifix  from  the 
Fi'ate's  hands  !  Had  life  as  many  secrets  before  her  still  as  it 
had  for  her  then,  in  lier  young  blindness  ?  It  was  a  thought 
that  helped  all  other  subduing  influences  ;  and  at  the  sound 
of  Fra  Girolamo's  voice  again,  Romola,  with  a  quick,  involun- 
tary  movement,  pressed  the  crucifix  against  her  mantle,  and 
looked  at  him  with  more  submission  than  before. 

"Conform  your  life  to  that  image,  my  daughter;  make 
your  sorrow  an  offering  ;  and  when  the  fire  of  divine  charity 
burns  within  you,  and  you  behold  the  need  of  your  fellow-men 
by  the  light  of  that  flame,  you  will  not  call  your  offei'ing  great. 
You  have  carried  yourself  proudly,  as  one  who  held  herself 
not  of  common  blood  or  of  common  thoughts  ;  but  you  have 
been  as  one  imborn  to  the  true  life  of  man.  What !  you  say 
your  love  for  your  father  no  longer  tells  you  to  stay  in  Flor- 
ence? Then,  since  that  tie  is  snapped,  you  are  without  a  law, 
without  religion  :  you  are  no  better  than  a  beast  of  the  field 
Avhen  she  is  robbed  of  her  young.  If  the  yearning  of  a  fleshly 
love  is  gone,  you  are  without  love,  without  obligation.  See, 
then,  my  daughter,  how  you  are  below  the  life  of  the  believer 
who  Avorships  that  image  of  the  Supreme  Offering,  and  feels 
the  glow  of  a  common  life  with  the  lost  multitude  for  whom 
that  offering  was  made,  and  beholds  the  history  of  the  world 
as  the  history  of  a  great  redemption  in  which  he  is  himself  a 
fellow-worker,  in  his  own  place  and  among  his  own  people ! 
If  you  held  that  faith,  my  beloved  daughter,  you  would  not 
be  a  wanderer  flying  from  suffering,  and  blindly  seeking  the 
good  of  a  freedom  which  is  lawlessness.  You  would  feel  that 
Florence  was  the  home  of  your  soul  as  well  as  your  birth-plac^ 


?24  ROMOLA. 

because  yon  would  see  the  work  tlmt  was  triven  yon  to  do 
tliere.  If  you  foisiike  your  place,  wlio  w  ill  fill  it  ?  You  oni^ht 
to  be  in  your  place  now,  helpini^  in  the  great  work  by  which 
God  will  jiurify  FIi)rcnc(!  and  raise  it  to  be  the  f^uide  of  the 
nations.  What !  the  earth  is  full  of  iniquity — full  of  groans — • 
the  light  is  still  struggling  with  a  mighty  darkness,  and  you 
say,  'I  can  not  bear  my  bonds  ;  I  will  burst  them  asunder;  I 
will  go  where  no  man  claims  me  V  jNIy  daughter,  every  bond 
of  your  life  is  a  tlebt :  the  right  lies  in  the  jiayment  of  that 
debt;  it  can  lie  nowhere  else.  In  vain  will  you  wander  over 
the  earth ;  you  will  be  wandering  forever  away  from  the 
right." 

Romola  was  inwardly  strugijling  with  strong  forces  :  that 
immense  personal  influence  of  Savonarola,  which  came  from 
the  energy  of  his  emotions  and  beliefs;  and  her  consciousness, 
surmounting  all  prejudice,  that  his  words  implied  ;i  higher 
law  than  any  she  had  yet  obeyed.  But  the  resisting  thoughts 
were  not  yet  overborne. 

"  How  then  could  Dino  be  right  ?  He  broke  ties.  He  for- 
Book  his  place." 

"That  was  a  special  vocation.  He  Avas  constrained  to  de- 
part, else  he  couM  not  have  attained  the  higher  life.  It  woidd 
have  been  stilled  within  him." 

"And  I  too,"  said  Komola,  raising  lier  hands  to  her  brow, 
and  speaking  in  a  tone  of  atiguish,  as  if  she  were  being  drair- 
ged  to  some  torture.     "  Father,  you  may  be  wrong." 

"  Ask  your  conscience,  my  daughter.  You  liave  no  voca- 
tion such  as  your  bi-other  liad.  You  are  a  wife.  You  seek  to 
break  your  ties  in  self-will  and  anger,  not  because  tlie  hiucher 
lile  calls  ui)on  you  tt)  renounce  them.  The  higher  life  begins 
for  us,  my  daughter,  when  we  renounce  our  own  will  to  bow 
before  a  divine  law.  That  seems  hard  to  you.  It  is  the  por- 
tal of  wisdom,  and  freedom,  and  blessedness.  And  the  symbol 
of  it  hangs  before  you.  'J'hat  wisdom  is  the  religion  of  the 
cross.  And  you  stand  aloof  from  it:  you  are  a  i)agan ;  you 
have  been  taught  to  say, '  I  am  as  the  wise  men  who  lived  be- 
fore the  time  when  the  Jew  of  Nazareth  was  crucified.'  And 
that  is  your  wisdom  !  To  be  as  tlic  dead  whose  eyes  arc 
closeil,  and  whose  ear  is  deaf  to  the  work  of  God  that  has  been 
eince  their  time.  What  has  your  dead  wisdom  done  for  you, 
my  daughter?  It  has  left  you  without  a  heart  for  the  neigh- 
bors among  whom  you  dwell,  without  care  for  the  great  work 
by  whicli  Florence  is  to  be  regenerated  and  the  world  made 
holy ;  it  has  left  you  without  a  share  in  the  divine  life  which 
quenches  the  sense  of  suffering  Self  in  the  ardors  of  an  ever- 
growing love.     And  now,  wlieu  the  sword  has  pierced  your 


ROMOLA.  325 

soul,  you  say, '  I  will  go  away ;  I  can  not  bear  my  sorrow.' 
And  you  think  nothing  of  the  sorrow  and  the  wrong  that  are 
within  the  walls  of  the  city  where  you  dwell :  you  would  leave 
your  place  empty,  when  it  ought  to  be  filled  with  your  pity 
and  your  labor.  If  there  is  wickedness  in  the  streets,  your 
steps  should  shine  with  the  light  of  purity ;  if  there  is  a  cry 
of  anguish,  you,  my  daughter,  because  you  know  the  meaning 
of  the  cry,  should  be  there  to  still  it.  My  beloved  daughter, 
sorrow  has  come  to  teach  you  a  new  worship :  the  sign  of  it 
hangs  before  you." 

Romola's  jnind  was  still  torn  by  conflict.  She  foresaw  that 
she  should  obey  Savonarola  and  go  back :  his  words  had  come 
to  her  as  if  they  were  an  interpretation  of  that  revulsion  from 
self-satisfied  ease,  and  of  that  new  fellowship  Avith  suffering 
which  had  already  been  awakened  in  her.  His  arresting  voice 
had  brought  a  new  condition  into  her  life,  which  made  it  seem 
impossible  to  her  that  she  could  go  on  her  way  as  if  she  had 
not  heard  it ;  yet  she  shrank  as  one  who  sees  the  path  she 
must  take,  but  sees,  too,  that  the  hot  lava  lies  there.  And  the 
instinctive  shrinkino;  from  a  return  to  her  husband  brousrht 
doubts.  She  turned  away  her  eyes  from  Fra  Girolamo,  and 
stood  for  a  minute  or  two  with  her  hands  hanging  clasped  be- 
fore her,  like  a  pale  statue.  At  last  she  spoke,  as  if  the  words 
were  being  wrung  from  her,  still  looking  on  the  ground, 

"My  husband. . .  .he  is  not. .  .  .my  love  is  gone !" 

"My  daughter,  there  is  the  bond  of  a  higher  love.  Mar- 
riage is  not  carnal  only,  made  for  selfish  delight.  See  what 
that  thought  leads  you  to  !  It  leads  you  to  wander  away  in  a 
false  garb  from  all  the  obligations  of  your  place  and  name. 
That  would  not  have  been  if  you  had  learned  that  it  is  a  sacra- 
mental vow,  from  which  none  but  God  can  release  you.  My 
daughter,  your  life  is  not  as  a  grain  of  sand,  to  be  blown  by 
the  winds  ;  it  is  as  flesh  and  blood,  that  dies  if  it  be  sundered. 
Your  husband  is  not  a  malefactor?" 

Romola  flushed  and  started.  "  Heaven  forbid  !  N"o  ;  I 
accuse  him  of  nothing." 

"  I  did  not  suppose  he  was  a  malefactor.  I  meant  that  if 
he  were  a  malefactor  your  place  Avould  be  in  the  prison  beside 
him.  My  daughter,  if  the  cross  comes  to  you  as  a  wife,  you 
must  carry  it  as  a  wife.  You  may  say,  'I  will  forsake  my 
husband,'  but  you  can  not  cease  to  be  a  wife." 

"  Yet  if — oh  how  could  I  bear — "  Romola  had  involun- 
tarily begun  to  say  something  which  she  sought  to  banish 
from  her  mind  again. 

"  Make  your  marriage  sorrows  an  offering  too,  my  daugh- 
ter— an  offering  to  the  great  work  by  which  sin  and  sorrow 


326  ROMOLA. 

firo  hoinjT  mriile  to  coase.  The  end  is  sure,  and  is  alronGA  !>e« 
^iimiiiLC.  JKtc  in  Fli>r<.'iice  il  is  l>t'giiiiiiii^,  and  the  eyes  ci 
faith  behohl  it.  And  it  may  be  our  blesse<liiei5S  to  die  for  it: 
to  die  daily  by  tlie  crucitixiou  of  our  seHish  will — to  die  at 
last,  by  layinuj  our  bodies  on  the  altar.  ]My  daughter,  you  are 
a  ehild  of  Florenee;  fullill  the  iluties  of  that  great  inheritance. 
Live  for  Florence — for  your  own  ])eoi)le,  whoni  God  is  prepar- 
ing to  bless  the  earth.  Jiear  the  angiiisli  and  the  stiiai't.  The 
iron  is  sharp — I  know,  I  know — it  ''ends  the  tender  Uesh.  Tho 
draught  is  bitterness  on  the  lips.  '3ut  there  is  rapture  in  the 
cup — there  is  the  vision  which  makes  all  life  below  it  dross 
forever.     Come,  my  daughter,  come  back  to  your  place  !" 

While  Savonarola  spoke  with  growing  intensity,  his  arms 
tightly  folded  before  him  still,  as  they  had  been  from  the  first, 
but  his  face  alight  as  from  an  inward  flame,  Tlomola  felt  herself 
surrounded  and  i)ossessed  by  the  glow  ot  his  })assionate  faith. 
The  chill  doubts  all  melted  away;  she  was  subdue<l  by  the 
sense  of  something  unspeakably  great  to  which  she  was  being 
called  by  a  strong  being  who  roused  a  new  strength  within  her- 
self. In  a  voice  that  was  like  a  hnv,  prayerful  cry,  she  said  : 
"Father,  I  will  be  guided.  Teach  me!  I  will  go  back." 
Almost  unconsciously  she  sank  on  her  knees.  Savonarola 
stretched  out  his  hands  over  her;  but  feeling  would  no  longer 
pass  through  the  channel  of  speech,  and  he  was  silent. 


CHAPTER  XLT. 

COMING    BACK. 

*'  Rise,  my  daughter,"  said  Fra  Girolamo  at  last.  "  Youi 
servant  is  waiting  not  far  off  Avith  the  mules.  It  is  time  that 
I  should  go  onward  to  Florence." 

Koniola  arose  from  her  knees.  That  silent  attitude  IkuI 
been  a  sort  of  sacrament  to  her,  confirming  the  state  of  yearn- 
ing jiassivity  on  which  she  had  newly  entered.  By  the  one 
act  of  renouncing  her  resolve  to  <piit  her  husband  her  will 
seemed  so  utterly  bruised  that  she  felt  the  need  of  direction 
-even  in  small  things.  She  liftetl  uj)  the  edge  of  her  cowl,  and 
saw  !Maso  ami  the  second  Doininican  standing  with  tlieir  backs 
towards  her  on  the  edge  oi  the  hill,  about  ten  }ards  from  her; 
but  she  looked  at  Savonarola  again  without  speaking,  as  if  the 
order  to  Maso  to  turn  back  must  come  from  him  and  not  from 
her. 

"  I  Avill  go  and  call  them,"  he  said,  answering  her  glano^ 
of  appeal ;  "  and  I  will  recommend  you,  my  daugliter,  to  the 


ROMOLA.  327 

Brother  who  is  with  me.  You  desire  to  put  yourself  under 
guidance,  and  to  learn  that  wisdom  which  has  been  hitherto 
as  foolishness  to  you.  A  chief  gate  of  that  wisdom  is  the 
sacrament  of  confession.  You  Avill  need  a  confessor,  mv  dau<;h- 
ter,  and  I  desire  to  put  you  under  the  care  of  Fra  Salvestro, 
one  of  the  brethren  of  San  Marco  in  whom  I  most  confide." 

"  I  would  rather  have  no  guidance  but  yours,  father,"  said 
Romola,  looking  anxious. 

"  My  daughter,  I  do  not  act  as  a  confessor.  The  vocation  I 
have  withdraws  me  from  offices  that  would  force  me  into  fre- 
quent contact  with  the  laity,  and  interfere  with  my  special  du- 
ties." 

"  Then  shall  I  not  be  able  to  speak  to  you  in  private ;  if  I 
waver. . .  .if — "  Romola  broke  off  from  risinsr  agitation.  She 
felt  a  sudden  alarm  lest  her  new  strength  in  renunciation  should 
vanish  if  the  immediate  personal  influence  of  Savonarola  van- 
ished. 

"  My  daughter,  if  your  soul  has  need  of  the  word  in  private 
from  my  lips,  you  will  let  me  know  it  through  Fra  Salvestro, 
and  I  will  see  you  in  the  sacristy  or  in  the  choir  of  San  Mai'- 
co.  And  I  will  not  cease  to  watch  over  you.  I  will  instruct 
my  brother  concerning  yoa,  that  he  may  guide  you  into  that 
path  of  labor  for  the  suffering  and  the  hungry  to  which  you 
are  called  as  a  daughter  of  Florence  in  these  times  of  hard 
need.  I  desire  to  behold  vou  among  the  feebler  and  more  io:- 
norant  sisters  as  the  apple-tree  among  the  trees  of  the  forest, 
so  that  your  fairness  and  all  natural  gifts  may  be  but  as  a  lamp 
through  which  the  Divine  light  shines  the  more  purely.  I 
will  go  now  and  call  your  servant." 

When  Maso  had  been  sent  a  little  way  in  advance,  Fra 
Salvestro  came  forward,  and  Savonarola  led  Romola  towards 
him.  She  had  beforehand  felt  an  inward  shrinking  fi-om  a 
new  guide,  who  was  a  total  stranger  to  her ;  but  to  have  re- 
sisted Savonarola's  advice  would  have  been  to  assume  an  atti- 
tude of  independence  at  a  moment  when  all  her  strength  must 
be  drawn  from  the  renunciation  of  independence.  And  the 
whole  bent  of  her  mind  now  was  towards  doing  what  was  pain- 
fhl  rather  than  what  was  easy.  She  bowed  reverently  to  Fra 
Salvestro  before  looking  directly  at  him,  but  when  she  raised 
her  Iiead  and  saw  him  fully  her  reluctance  became,  a  palpita- 
ting doubt.  There  are  men  Avhose  presence  infuses  trust  and 
reverence  ;  there  are  others  to  whom  we  have  need  to  carry 
our  trust  and  reverence  ready-made ;  and  that  difference  flash- 
ed on  Romola  as  she  ceased  to  have  Savonarola  before  her, 
and  saw  in  his  stead  Fra  Salvestro  Maruffi.  It  was  not  that 
there  was  any  thing  manifestly  repulsive  in  Fra  Salvestro'^ 


328  ROMOLA. 

face  antl  manner,  any  air  of  hypocrisy,  any  tinge  of  coarse- 
ness; his  face  was  liaiulsomtT  than  Fra  ( Jirolinio's,  his  por- 
8o!»  a  little  taller.  Ho  was  the  long-accepted  confessor  of 
many  among  the  chief  personages  in  Florence,  and  had  there- 
fore had  large  experience  as  a  spiritual  director.  JJut  his  face 
had  the  vacillating  expression  of  a  mind  unable  to  concen- 
trate itself  stroiiLclv  in  the  channel  of  one  m-eat  emotion  or  be- 
lief,  an  expression  which  is  fatal  to  influence  over  au  ardent 
nature  like  Romola's.  Such  an  expression  is  not  the  stamp  of 
insincerity ;  it  is  the  stamp  simply  of  a  shallow  soul,  which 
will  often  be  found  sincerely  striving  to  fill  a  high  vocation, 
sincerely  composing  its  countenance  to  tlie  utterance  of  sublime 
formulas,  but  finding  the  muscles  twitch  or  relax  in  spite  of 
belief,  as  prose  insists  on  coming  instead  of  poetry  to  tho 
man  who  has  not  the  divine  frenzy.  Fra  Salvestro  had  a  pe- 
culiar liability  to  visions,  dependent  apparently  on  a  constitu- 
tion given  to  somnand:)ulism.  Savonarola  believed  in  the  su- 
pernatural character  of  these  visions,  while  Fra  Salvestro  him- 
self had  originally  resisted  such  an  interpretation  of  them,  and 
liad  even  rebuked  Savonarola  for  his  ])ro])hetic  preaching. 
Another  ])roof,  if  one  were  wanted,  that  the  relative  greatness 
of  men  is  not  to  be  gauged  by  their  tendency  to  disbelieve  the 
superstitions  of  their  age.  For  of  these  two  there  can  be  no 
question  which  was  the  great  man  and  which  the  small. 

The  difference  between  them  was  measured  very  accurate- 
ly by  the  change  in  Komola's  feeling  as  Fra  Salvestro  began 
to  address  her  in  words  of  exhortation  and  encourageme'  :. 
After  her  first  angry  resistance  of  Savonarola  had  passed 
away,  she  had  lost  all  remembrance  of  the  old  dread  lest  any 
influence  shoulil  drag  her  within  the  circle  of  fanaticism  and 
sour  monkish  piety.  But  now  again  the  chill  breath  of  that 
dread  stole  over  her.  It  could  have  no  decisive  effect  against 
the  impetus  her  mind  liad  just  received  ;  it  was  only  like  the 
closing  of  the  gray  clouds  over  the  sunrise,  which  made  her 
returning  path  monotonous  and  sombre. 

And  perhaps  of  all  sombre  paths,  that  on  which  we  go  back 
after  treading  it  with  a  strong  resolution  is  the  one  that  most 
severely  tests  the  fervor  of  rcinmciation.  As  they  re-entered 
the  city  gates  the  light  snow-Hakes  fell  about  them,  and  as 
the  gray  sister  walked  hastily  homeward  from  the  Piazza  di 
San  Marco  and  trod  the  bridge  again,  and  turjied  in  at  the 
large  door  in  the  Via  de'  Bardi,  h«'r  footsteps  were  marked 
darkly  on  the  thin  carpet  of  snow,  and  her  cowl  fell  laden  and 
damp  about  her  face. 

She  went  up  to  her  room,  threw  oft*  her  serge,  destroyed 
the  parting  letters,  re])laced  all  her  precious  trifles,  unbound 


ROMOLA. 


329 


Her  hair,  and  put  on  ber  usual  black  dress.  Instead  of  tak- 
ing a  long,  exciting  journey,  she  was  to  sit  down  in  her  usual 
place.     The  snow  fell  against  the  windows,  and  she  was  alone. 

She  felt  the  di-eariness,  yet  her  courage  was  high,  like  that 
of  a  seeker  who  has  come  on  new  signs  of  gold.  She  was  go- 
ing to  thread  life  by  a  fresh  clue.  She  had  thrown  all  the 
energy  of  her  Avill  into  renunciation.  The  empty  tabernacle 
remained  locked,  and  she  placed  Dino's  crucifix  outside  it. 

Nothing  broke  the  outward  monotony  of  her  solitary  home 
till  the  night  came  like  a  white  ghost  at  the  windows.  Yet 
it  was  the  most  memorable  Christmas-eve  in  her  life  to  Romo- 
la,  this  of  1494. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

EOMOLA   IN   HER  PLACE. 

It  was  the  thirtieth  of  October,  1496.  The  sky  that  mom- 
Ing  was  clear  enough,  and  there  was  a  pleasant  auturanaj 
breeze.  But  the  Florentines  just  then  thought  very  little  about 
the   laud  breezes  :  they  were    thinking  of   the  gales  at  sea. 


330  ROMOI.A. 

wliich  seemed  to  ho  unitincj  witli  all  other  powers  to  disprovfj 
the  Krate's  declaration  that  Ih-aven  took  si)ecial  euro  of  Flor, 
ence. 

For  those  terrible  gales  had  driven  away  from  the  coast  of 
Lej^horn  certain  ships  from  Marseilles,  freighted  with  soldiery 
and  corn  ;  and  Floience  was  in  the  direst  need,  iirst  of  food, 
and  secondly  of  lighting  men.  Pale  famine  was  in  her  streets, 
and  her  territory  was  threatened  on  all  its  V)orders. 

For  the  French  king,  that  new  Charlemagne,  w  ho  had  enter- 
ed Italy  in  anticipatory  triumph,  and  had  conquered  Naples 
without  the  least  trouble,  had  gone  away  again  fifteen  months 
ago,  and  was  even,  it  was  feared,  in  his  grief  for  the  loss  of  a 
new-born  son,  losing  the  languid  intention  of  coming  back  again 
to  redress  grievances  and  set  the  Church  in  order.  A  league 
had  l)een  formed  against  him — a  Holy  League,  with  Pope 
Borgia  at  its  head,  to  "  drive  out  the  bai'barians,''  who  still  gar- 
risoned the  fortress  of  Naples.  That  had  a  patriotic  sound; 
but,  looked  at  more  closely,  the  Holy  League  seemed  very 
much  like  an  agreement  among  certain  wolves  to  drive  away 
all  other  wolves,  and  tlicn  to  see  which  among  themselves  could 
snatch  the  largest  share  of  the  prey.  And  there  was  a  general 
dis])Osition  to  regard  Florence,  not  as  a  fellow-wolf,  but  rather 
as  a  desirable  carcass.  Florence,  therefore,  of  all  the  chief 
Italian  States,  had  alone  declined  to  join  the  League,  adhering 
still  to  the  Frv'nch  alliance. 

She  had  declined  at  her  peril.  At  this  moment  Pisa,  still 
fighting  savagely  for  liberty,  was  being  encouraged  not  only 
by  strong  forces  from  Venice  and  Milan,  but  by  the  presence 
of  the  (rerman  Fmjieror  ]\ra.\imili;ni.  who  had  been  invited  by 
the  League,  and  was  joining  the  Pisans  with  such  troops  as 
he  liad  in  the  attempt  to  get  ])ossession  of  Leghorn,  while  the 
coast  Avas  invested  by  Venetian  and  Genoese  ships.  And  if 
Leghorn  should  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  I'lieiny,  woe  to  Flor- 
ence!  For  if  that  one  outlet  towards  the  sea  were  closed, 
hedged  in  as  she  was  on  the  land  by  the  bitter  ill-will  of  the 
Po{)e,  and  the  jealousy  of  smaller  States,  how  could  succors 
reach  her? 

The  government  of  Florence  had  shown  a  great  heart  in 
this  urgent  need,  meeting  losses  and  defeats  with  vigorous 
effort,  raising  fresh  money,  raising  fresh  soldiers,  but  not  neg- 
lecting the  good  olil  method  of  Italian  defense — conciliatory 
embassies.  And  while  the  scarcity  of  food  "was  every  day 
becoming  greater,  they  had  resolved,  in  opposition  to  old  ])rec- 
odent,  not  to  shut  out  the  starving  country  people,  and  the 
meixlicants  driven  from  the  gates  of  other  cities,  who  came 
flocking  to  Florence  like  birds  from  a  land  of  snow.     These 


ROMOLA.  331 

acts  of  a  government  in  which  the  disciples  of  Savonarola  made 
the  strongest  element  were  not  allowed  to  pass  without  criti- 
cism. The  disaffected  were  plentiful,  and  they  saw  clearly  that 
the  govermnent  took  the  worst  course  for  the  public  welfare. 
Florence  ought  to  join  the  League,  and  make  common  cause 
Avith  the  other  great  Italian  States,  instead  of  drawing  down 
their  hostility  by  a  futile  adherence  to  a  foreign  ally.  Flor- 
ence ought  to  take  care  of  her  own  citizens,  instead  of  opening 
her  gates  to  famine  and  pestilence  in  the  shape  of  starving 
contadini  and  alien  mendicants. 

Every  day  the  distress  became  sharper:  every  day  the 
murmurs  became  louder.  And,  to  crown  the  difficulties  of 
the  government,  for  a  month  and  more — in  obedience  to  a 
mandate  from  Rome — Fra  Girolamo  had  ceased  to  preach. 
But  on  the  arrival  of  the  terrible  news  that  the  ships  from 
Marseilles  had  been  driven  back,  and  that  nocorn  was  coming, 
the  need  for  the  voice  that  could  infuse  faith  and  patience 
into  the  people  became  too  imperative  to  be  resisted.  In  de- 
fiance of  the  Papal  mandate  the  Signoria  requested  Savo- 
narola to  preach.  And  two  days  ago  he  had  mounted 
again  the  pulpit  of  the  Duomo,  and  had  told  the  people 
only  to  wait  and  be  steadfast,  and  the  Divine  help  would 
certainly  come.  It  Avas  a  bold  sei*mon :  he  consented  to 
have  his  frock  stripped  off  him  if,  when  Florence  persevered 
in  fulfilling  the  duties  of  piety  and  citizenship,  God  did  not 
come  to  her  rescue. 

Yet  at  present,  on  this  morning  of  the  thirtieth,  there  were 
no  signs  of  rescue.  Perhaps  if  the  precious  Tabernacle  of  the 
Madonna  dell'  Impruneta  were  brought  into  Florence  and  car- 
ried in  devout  procession  to  the  Duomo,  that  Mother,  rich  in 
sorrows  and  therefore  in  mercy,  Avould  plead  for  the  suffering 
city  ?  For  a  century  and  a  half  there  were  records  how  the 
Florentines,  suffering  from  drought,  or  flood,  or  famine,  or 
pestilence,  or  the  threat  of  wars,  had  fetched  the  potent  image 
within  their  walls,  and  liad  found  deliverance.  And  grateful 
honor  had  been  done  to  her  and  her  ancient  church  of  LTmpru- 
neta ;  the  high  house  of  Buondolmonti,  patrons  of  the  church, 
had  to  guard  her  hidden  image  Avith  bare  SAVord ;  Avealth  had 
been  poured  out  for  prayers  at  her  shrine,  for  chantings,  and 
chapels,  and  CA-er-burning  lights  ;  and  lands  had  been  added, 
till  there  was  much  quarrelling  for  the  privilege  of  serving  her. 
The  Florentines  were  deeply  convinced  of  her  graciousness  to 
them,  so  that  the  sight  of  her  tabernacle  within  their  Avails 
was  like  the  parting  of  the  cloud,  and  the  proverb  ran,  that 
the  Florentines  had  a  Madonna  Avho  Avould  do  Avhat  they 
pleased.     When  were  they  in  more  need  of  her  pleading  pity 


332  ROMOLA. 

than  now  ?  And  nfroady,  tlio  ovcnincf  before,  the  ta>)ernnclo 
contaiiiiii!^  ihe  iniiaciiloiis  liiddeii  iiiiULre  IkkI  been  brout^ht 
-vvilli  high  :iiid  reverend  eseort  from  L'lniprunetajtlie  privileged 
spot  six  miles  beyond  tlie  gate  of  San  Piero  that  looks  towards 
l\onu',  and  had  been  deposited  in  the  ehnrch  of  San  Oaggio, 
outside  the  gate,  whence  it  was  to  be  fetched  in  solenni  pro- 
cession by  all  the  fraternities,  trades,  and  authorities  of  B'lor- 

snce. 

But  the  ritving  Mother  had  not  yet  entered  within  the 
walls,  and  the  morning  arose  on  unchanged  misery  and  de- 
spondency. Pestilence  was  hovering  in  the  track  of  famine. 
Not  only  the  liospitals  Averefull,  l)ut  the  court-yards  of  i)rivatc 
houses  had  been  turned  into  refuges  and  iniirmaries  ;  and  still 
there  was  unsheltered  want.  And  early  this  morning,  as  usual, 
members  of  the  various  fraternities  who  made  it  part  of  their 
duty  to  bury  the  unfriended  dead  were  bearing  away  the 
corpses  tliat  had  sunk  by  the  wayside.  As  usual,  sweet  wom- 
anly forms,  with  the  refined  air  and  carriage  of  the  well-born, 
but  in  the  jilainest  garb,  were  moving  about  the  streets  on 
their  daily  errands  of  tending  the  sick  and  relieving  the 
liungry. 

One  of  these  forms  was  easily  distinguishable  as  Romola 
de'  Bardi.  Clad  in  the  simplest  garment  of  black  serge,  Avith 
a  plain  j^iece  of  black  diai)ery  drawn  over  her  head,  so  as  to 
hide  all  her  hair,  except  the  bands  of  gold  that  rippled  apart 
on  her  brow,  she  was  advancing  from  the  Ponte  Vecchio  to- 
wards the  Por'  Santa  Maria — the  street  in  a  direct  line  with 
the  bridge — when  she  found  her  Avay  obstruc1,ed  by  the  paus- 
ing of  a  bier,  which  was  being  carried  by  members  of  the 
coinpanvof  San  .Tacopo  del  Popolo,  in  search  for  the  unburied 
dead.  The  brethren  at  the  head  of  the  bier  were  stooping  to 
examine  something,  while  a  group  of  idle  workmen,  with  fea- 
tures paled  and  siiarpened  by  hunger,  were  clustering  round 
and  .all  talking  at  once. 

"lie's  dead,  I  tell  you!  Messer  Domencddio  has  loved 
him  well  enough  to  take  him," 

"  All,  and  it  would  be  well  for  us  all  if  we  could  have  our 
legs  stretched  out  and  go  with  our  heads  two  or  three  }>ra('cl 
foVemost!  It's  ill  standing  upright  with  hunger  to  prop 
you." 

"Well,  well,  he's  an  old  fellow.  Death  has  got  a  poor 
bargain.     T/ifc's  had  the  best  of  him." 

"And  no  Florentine,  ten  to  one  !  A  beggar  turned  out  of 
Siena.  San  (Giovanni  defend  us  !  They've  no  need  of  soldiers 
to  light  us.     They  send  us  an  army  of  starving  men." 

"No.no  !     This  man  is  one  of  the  prisoners  turned  out  of 


ROM  OLA.  333 

the  Stinche.      I  know  by  the  gray  patch  where  the  i^rison 
badge  was," 

"  Keep  quiet !  Lend  a  hand  !  Don't  you  see  the  brethren 
are  going  to  lift  him  on  the  bier  !" 

"  It's  hkely  he's  ahve  enough  if  he  could  only  look  it.  The 
soul  may  be  inside  him  if  it  had  only  a  drop  of  vernaccia  to 
warm  it." 

"  In  truth,  I  think  he  is  not  dead,"  said  one  of  the  brethi'en, 
when  they  had  lifted  him  on  the  bier.  "He  has  perhaps  only 
sunk  down  for  want  of  food," 

"  Let  me  try  to  give  him  some  wine,"  said  Romola,  coming 
forward.  She  loosened  the  small  flask  which  she  carried  at 
her  belt,  and,  leaning  towards  the  prostrate  body,  with  a  deft 
hand  she  applied  a  small  ivory  implement  between  the  tectli, 
and  poured  into  the  mouth  a  few  drops  of  wine.  The  stimulus 
acted  :  the  wine  was  evidently  swallowed.  She  poured  more, 
till  the  head  was  moved  a  little  towards  her,  and  the  eyes  of 
the  old  man  opened  full  upon  her  with  the  vague  look  of  re- 
turning consciousness.  Then  for  the  first  time  a  sense  of 
complete  recognition  came  over  Romola,  Those  wild  dark 
eyes  opening  in  the  sallow  deep-lined  face,  with  the  white 
beard,  which  was  now  long  again,  were  like  an  unmistakable 
signature  to  a  remembered  handwriting.  The  light  of  two 
summers  had  not  made  that  image  any  fainter  in  Romola's 
memory  :  the  image  of  the  escaped  prisoner,  whom  she  had 
seen  in  the  Duomo  the  day  when  Tito  first  wore  the  armor — at 
whose  grasp  Tito  was  paled  with  terror  in  the  strange  sketch 
she  had  seen  in  Fiero's  studio,  A  wretched  tremor  and  palpita- 
tion seized  her.  Now  at  last,  perhaps,  she  was  going  to  know 
some  secret  wliich  miglit  be  more  bitter  than  all  that  had  gone 
before.  She  felt  an  impulse  to  dart  away  as  from  some  sight 
of  horror;  and  again,  a  more  imperious  need  to  keep  close  by 
the  side  of  this  old  man  whom,  the  divination  of  keen  feeling 
told  her,  her  husband  had  injured.  In  the  very  instant  of  this 
conflict  she  still  leaned  towards  him  and  kept  her  right  hand 
ready  to  administer  more  wine,  while  her  left  was  passed  under 
his  neck.  Her  hands  trembled,  but  their  habit  of  soothing 
helpfulness  would  have  served  to  guide  them  without  the  di- 
rection of  her  thought. 

Baldassarre  was  looking  at  her  for  the  first  time.  The 
close  seclusion  in  which  Romola's  trouble  had  kept  her  in  the 
weeks  preceding  her  flight  and  his  arrest  had  denied  him  the 
opportunity  he  had  sought  of  seeing  'the  Wife  who  lived  in 
the  Via  de'  Bardi ;  and  at  this  moment  the  descriptions  he 
had  heard  of  the  fair,  golden-haired  woman  were  all  gone,  like 
yesterday's  waves. 


334  UOMOLA. 

"  \V'ill  it  not  l)c  AvcU  to  carry  liim  to  the  stops  of  San  Sto 
fano  ?"  said  lioniola.  '"Wo  .shall  cease  tiicn  to  stop  up  the 
strt.'ct,  and  you  can  go  on  your  way  with  your  bior." 

They  had  only  to  move  onward  for  about  thirty  yards  be- 
fore reaching  the  steps  of  San  Stefano,  and  by  this  time  Bal- 
dassarre  was  able  liimself  to  make  some  efforts  towards  get- 
ting off  the  bier,  and  propj)iiig  himself  on  the  steps  against 
the  church  doorway.  The  charitable  brethren  passed  on,  but 
the  group  of  interested  spectators,  who  had  notliing  to  do  and 
much  to  say,  had  considerably  increased.  The  feeling  towards 
the  olil  man  was  not  so  entirely  friendly  now  it  was  <piite  cer- 
tain that  he  was  alive,  but  the  respect  inspired  by  Komola's 
presence  caused  the  passing  remarks  to  be  made  in  u  raUier 
more  subdued  tone  than  before. 

"Ah,  they  gave  him  his  morsel  every  day  in  the  Stinche — • 
that's  why  he  can't  do  so  well  without  it.  You  and  I,  Cecco, 
know  better  what  it  is  to  go  to  bed  fasting." 

'''■  Gttiiffr !  that's  why  the  Magnificent  Eight  have  turned 
out  some  of  the  prisoners,  that  they  may  shelter  honest  people 
instead.  But  if  every  thief  is  to  be  brought  to  life  w  ith  good 
wine  and  wheaten  bread,  we  Ciompi  had  better  go  and  till 
ourselves  in  Arno  while  tlie  water's  ))lenty." 

Itutnola  had  seated  herself  on  the  steps  by  Baldassarre,  and 
was  saying, "  Can  you  eat  a  little  bread  now  ?  perhaps  by-and- 
by  you  will  be  able,  if  I  leave  it  with  you.  I  must  go  on,  be- 
cause I  have  promised  to  be  at  the  hospital.  But  I  will  como 
back  if  you  will  wait  here,  and  then  I  will  take  you  to  some 
shelter.  Do  you  understand  ?  Will  you  wait  ?  I  will  come 
back." 

He  looked  dreamily  at  hei',  and  repeated  her  words,  "come 
back."  It  was  no  wonder  that  his  mind  was  enfeebled  by  liis 
bodily  exhaustion,  but  she  hoped  that  he  ap]>rehended  her 
meaning.  She  <)])eiied  her  basket,  which  was  filled  with  pieces 
of  soft  bread,  an<l  ])ut  one  of  the  pieces  hito  his  hand. 

"Do  you  keep  your  bread  for  those  that  can't  swallow, 
madonna?"  said  a  rough-looking  fellow,  in  a  red  night-cap, 
wh(j  had  elbowed  his  way  into  the  imnost  circle  of  spectators 
— a  circle  that  was  jn-ossing  rather  closely  on  Komola.  • 

"If  any  body  isn't  hungry,"  said  another,  "  I  say,  let  him 
alone.  He's  better  off  than  peoj)le  who've  got  craving  stom- 
achs and  no  breakfast." 

"  Yes,  indeed  ;  if  a  man's  a  mind  to  die,  it's  a  time  to  en- 
courage him,  instead  of  making  him  come  back  to  life  against 
his  will.     Dead  men  want  no  ti'enchcr." 

"  Oh,  you  don't  miderstand  the  Fratc's  charity,"  said  a 
young  ujan  in   an  excellent  cloth  tunic,  whose  face  showed 


ItOMOLA.  335 

no  signs  of  want.  "The  Frate  has  been  preaching  to  the 
birds,  like  Saint  Anthony,  and  he's  been  telling  the  hawks 
they  were  made  to  feed  the  sparrows,  as  every  good  Flor- 
entine citizen  was  made  to  feed  six  starving  beggar-men 
from  Arezzo  or  Bologna.  Madonna  there  is  a  pious  Pici' 
gnone:  she's  not  going  to  throw  away  her  good  bread  on 
honest  citizens  who've  got  all  the  Frate's  prophecies  to  swaL 
low." 

"  Come,  madonna,"  said  he  of  the  red  cap, "  the  old  thief 
doesn't  eat  the  bread,  you  see :  you'd  better  try  us.  We  fast 
so  much  Ave're  half  saints  already." 

The  circle  had  narrowed  till  the  coarse  men — most  of  them 
gaunt  from  privation — had  left  hardly  any  margin  round 
Romola.  She  had  been  takinaj  from  her  basket  a  small  horn 
cup,  into  which  she  put  the  piece  of  bread  and  just  moist,ened 
it  with  wine ;  and  hitherto  she  had  not  appeared  to  heed 
them.  But  now  she  rose  to  her  feet,  and  looked  round  at 
them.  Instinctively  the  men  who  were  nearest  to  her  pushed 
backward  a  little,  as  if  their  rude  nearness  were  the  fault  of 
those  behind,  liomola  held  out  the  basket  of  bread  to  the 
man  in  the  night-cap,  looking  at  him  without  any  reproach  in 
her  glance,  as  slie  said, 

"Hunger  is  hard  to  bear,  I  know,  and  you  have  the  power 
to  take  this  bread  if  you  will.  It  was  saved  for  sick  women 
and  children.  You  are  strong  men ;  but  if  you  do  not  choose 
to  suffer  because  you  are  strong,  you  have  the  power  to  take 
every  thing  from  the  weak.  You  can  take  the  bread  from 
this  basket;  but  I  shall  watch  by  this  old  man;  I  shall  resist 
your  taking  the  bread  from  him.'''' 

For  a  few  moments  there  was  perfect  silence,  while  Romo- 
la looked  at  the  faces  before  her,  and  held  out  the  basket  of 
bread.  Her  own  pale  face  had  the  slightly  pinched  look  and 
the  deepening  of  the  eye-socket  which  indicate  unusual  fasting 
in  the  habitually  temperate,  and  the  large  direct  gaze  of  her 
hazel  eyes  was  all  the  more  impressive.  The  man  in  the 
night-cap  looked  rather  silly,  and  backed,  thrusting  his  elbow 
into  his  neighbor's  libs  with  an  air  of  moral  rebuke.  The 
backing  was  genernl,  every  one  wishing  to  imply  that  he  had 
been  pushed  forward  against  his  will ;  and  the  young  man  in 
the  fine  cloth  tunic  had  disappeared. 

But  at  this  moment  the  armed  servitors  of  the  Signoria, 
who  had  begun  to  ])atrol  the  line  of  streets  through  which  the 
procession  was  to  pass,  came  up  to  disperse  the  group  which 
was  obstructing  the  narrow  street.  The  man  addressed  as 
Cecco  retreated  from  a  threatening  mace  up  the  church  steps, 
and  said  to  Romola,  iu  a  respectful  tone, 


336  ROMOLA. 

"  Madonna,  if  you  want  to  go  on  your  errands,  I'll  take  care 
of  the  old  man." 

Cecco  was  a  wild-looking  figure  :  a  very  ragged  ttniic,  made 
ehagtry  and  variegated  by  eloth-dust  and  clinging  fragments 
of  wool,  gave  relief  to  a  j)air  of  bare  bony  arms  and  u  long 
sinewy  neck;  liis  square  jaw  shaded  by  a  bristly  black  beard, 
his  bridgeless  nose  and  low  forehead,  made  his  face  look  as  if 
it  had  been  crushed  down  for  the  i)ur])Ose  of  packing,  and  a 
narrow  piece  of  red  rag  tied  over  his  ears  seemed  to  assist  in 
the  compression.  Komola  looked  at  him  with  some  hesita- 
tion. 

''  Don't  distrust  nic,  madonna,"  said  Cecco,  who  under- 
stood her  look  perfectly ;  "  I'm  not  so  pretty  as  you,  but  I've 
got  an  old  mother  who  eats  my  jtorridge  for  me.  What! 
there's  a  heart  inside  me,  and  I've  bougiit  a  candle  for  the 
most  Holy  Virgin  before  now.  Besides,  see  there,  the  old  fel- 
low is  eating  his  sop.  He's  hale  enough :  he'll  be  on  his  legs 
as  well  as  the  best  of  us  by-and-by." 

"Thank  you  for  offeiing  to  take  care  of  him,  friend,"  said 
Romola,  rather  penitent  for  her  doubting  glance.  Then  lean- 
ing to  Baldassarre,  she  said,  "Pray  wait  for  me  till  I  come 
again." 

He  assented  with  a  slight  movement  of  the  head  and  liand, 
and  Romola  went  on  her  way  towards  the  hospital  of  Sau 
Mattco,  in  the  Piazza  di  San  Marco. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

THE  UNSEEN  MADONNA. 


In  returning  from  the  hospital,  more  than  an  hour  later, 
Romola  took  a  dilTeretit  load,  making  a  wider  circuit  towards 
tlie  river,  which  she  reached  at  some  distance  from  the  Ponte 
Vecchio.  She  turned  her  steps  towards  that  bridge,  inteml- 
ing  to  hasten  to  San  Stefano  in  search  of  Baldassaire.  She 
dreaded  to  know  more  about  him,  yet  she  felt  as  if,  in  forsak- 
ing him,  she  would  be  forsaking  some  near  claim  upon  her. 

]>ut  when  she  api)roached  the  meeting  of  the  roads  where 
Pthe  I'or'  Santa  Maria  would  be  on  her  right  hand  and  the 
Ponte  Vecchio  on  her  left,  she  found  herself  involved  in  a 
crowd  who  suddenly  fell  on  their  knees;  and  she  immediately 
knelt  with  them.  The  Cross  was  passing — the  (ireat  Cross 
of  the  Duonu> — which  headed  the  j)rocession.  liomola  was 
later  than  she  had  expected  to  be,  and  now  she  must  wait  till 
the  procession  had  passed.     As  she  rose  from  lier  knees,  wheu 


EO'MOLA,  337 

the  Cross  had  disappeared,  the  return  to  a  standing  posture, 
*vith  nothing  to  do  but  gaze,  made  her  more  conscious  of  her 
fatigue  than  she  had  been  while  she  had  been  walking  and  oc- 
cupied.    A  shop-keeper  by  her  side  said : 

'*  Madonna  Komola,  you  will  be  weary  of  standing :  Gian 
Fantoni  will  be  glad  to  give  you  a  seat  in  his  house.  Here 
is  his  door  close  at  hand.  Let  me  open  it  for  you.  What ! 
he  loves  God  and  the  Frate  as  we  do.     His  house  is  yours." 

Roniola  was  accustomed  now  to  be  addressed  in  this  frater- 
nal Avay  by  ordinary  citizens,  whose  faces  wei-e  familiar  to  her 
from  her  having  seen  them  constantly  in  the  DuouiO.  The 
word  "  home  "  had  come  to  mean,  for  her,  less  the  house  in 
the  Via  de'  Bardi,  where  she  sat  in  frequent  loneliness,  than 
the  tOAvered  circuit  of  Florence,  where  there  was  hardly  a  turn 
of  the  streets  at  which  she  Avas  not  greeted  with  looks  of  ap- 
peal or  of  friendliness.  She  was  glad  enough  to  pass  through 
the  opened  door  on  her  right  hand  and  be  led  by  the  frater- 
nal hose-vender  to  an  up-stairs  window,  Avhere  a  stout  woman 
with  three  children,  all  in  the  plain  garb  of  Piaguoni,  made  a 
place  for  her  Avith  much  reverence  above  the  bright  hanging 
draperies.  From  this  corner  station  she  could  see,  not  only 
the  procession  pouring  in  solemn  slowness  between  the  lines 
of  houses  on  the  Ponte  Yecchio,  but  also  the  river  and  the 
Lung'  Arno  on  towards  the  bridge  of  the  Santa  Trinitji. 

In  sadness  and  in  stillness  came  the  slow  procession.  Not 
even  a  Availing  chant  broke  the  silent  appeal  for  mercy  :  there 
Avas  only  the  tramp  of  footsteps,  and  the  faint  sweep  of  avooI- 
len  garments.  They  Avore  young  footsteps  that  Avere  passing 
when  Romola  first  looked  from  the  Avindow — a  lono-  train  of 
the  Florentine  youth,  bearing  high  in  the  midst  of  them  the 
Avhite  image  of  the  youthful  Jesus,  Avith  a  golden  glory  above 
his  head,  standing  by  the  tall  cross  where  the  thorns  and  the 
nails  lay  ready. 

After  that  train  of  fresh  beai'dless  faces  came  the  myste« 
rious-looking  Companies  of  Discipline,  bound  by  secret  rules 
to  self-chastisement,  and  devout  praise,  and  special  acts  of  pie- 
ty ;  all  Avearing  a  garb  Avhich  concealed  the  Avhole  head  and 
face  except  the  eyes.  Every  one  knew  that  these  m}-¥terious 
forms  were  Florentine  citizens  of  various  ranks,  who  might  be 
seen  at  ordinary  times  going  about  the  business  of  the  shop,  the 
counting-house,  or  the  State ;  but  no  member  now  Avas  discern- 
ible as  son,  husband,  or  father.  They  had  dropped  their  per- 
sonality, and  Avalked  as  symbols  of  a  common  vow.  Each 
company  had  its  c^lor  and  its  badge,  but  the  garb  of  all  Avas  a 
complete  shroud,  and  left  no  expression  but  that  of  fcliow- 
ehip. 

13 


&38  ROMOL<V, 

Tn  comparison  v^ith  tlicm  the  niiiltitiulo  of  monks  seemed 
to  be  8li()i:gly  (listingui>lie{l  indiviiluals,  in  spik-  of  the  eoiiiniun 
tonsure  and  the  common  frock.  First  came  a  Avhite  stream 
of  reformed  Ik'nedietines  ;  and  then  a  much  longer  stream  of 
the  Frati  Minori,  or  Franciscans,  in  that  age  all  clad  in  gray, 
■with  the  knotted  cord  round  their  waists,  and  some  of  tiiem 
with  the  zoccoli,  or  wooden  sandals,  below  their  bare  feet — per- 
haps the  most  nmnerous  order  in  Florence,  owning  many /cal- 
lous members  m  ho  loved  mankind  and  hated  the  Dominicans. 
And  after  the  gray  came  the  black  of  the  Augustinians  of  !San 
Spirito,  with  more  cultured  human  faces  above  it — men  who 
had  inherited  the  library  of  Boccaccio,  and  had  made  the  most 
learned  company  in  Florence  when  learning  was  rarer ;  then 
the  white  over  dark  of  the  Carmelites ;  and  then  again  the 
immixed  black  of  the  Servites,  that  famous  Florentine  order 
founded  by  seven  merchants  Avho  forsook  their  gains  to  adore 
the  Divine  Mother. 

And  now  the  hearts  of  all  on-lookers  began  to  beat  a  little 
faster,  either  with  hatred  or  with  love,  for  there  was  a  stream 
of  black  and  white  coming  over  the  bridge — of  black  mantles 
over  white  scapularies ;  and  every  one  knew  that  the  Domini- 
cans were  coming.  Those  of  Fiesole  passed  first.  One  black 
mantle  parted  by  white  after  another,  one  tonsured  head  after 
another,  and  still  expectation  was  suspended.  They  were  very 
coarse  mantles,  all  of  them,  and  many^  Avere  threadbare,  if  not 
ragged  ;  for  the  Prior  of  San  Marco  had  reduced  the  fraterni- 
ties under  his  rule  to  the  strictest  poverty  and  discipline.  Hut 
in  the  long  line  of  black  and  white  there  was  at  last  singled 
out  a  mantle  oidy  a  little  mort'  worn  th»n  the  rest,  with  a  ton- 
sured head  above  it  which  might  not  have  appeared  sujiremely 
remarkable  to  a  stranger  who  had  not  seen  it  on  bronze  med- 
als, with  the  sword  of  God  as  its  obverse ;  or  surrounded  by 
an  armed  guard  on  the  way  to  the  Duomo;  or  transfigured  by 
the  inward  flame  of  the  orator  as  it  looked  round  on  a  rapt 
multitude. 

As  the  approach  of  Savonarola  -was  discerned,  none  dared 
conspicuously  to  break  the  stillness  by-  a  sound  which  would 
rise  above  the  solemn  tramp  of  footstej)s  and  the  faint  sweep 
of  garments  ;  nevertheless  his  ear,  as  well  as  other  ears,  caught 
a  mingleil  sound  of  low  hissing  that  longed  to  be  curses,  and 
murmurs  tliat  longed  to  be  blessings.  Perhaps  it  was  the 
sense  that  the  hissing  predominated  which  made  two  or  three 
of  Ids  disci])les  in  the  foreground  of  the  crowd,  at  tlie  meet- 
ing of  the  roads,  fall  on  their  knees  as  jf  something  divine 
were  passing.  The  movement  of  silent  homage  spread  :  it 
went  along  the  sides  of  the  streets  like  a  subtle  shock,  leav- 


KOMOLA.  339 

ing  some  unmoved,  ^A'hile  it  made  the  most  bend  the  knee  and 
bow  the  head.  But  the  hatred,  too,  gathered  a  more  intense 
expression  ;  and  as  Savonarola  passed  up  the  Por'  Santa  Ma- 
ria, Komola  could  see  that  some  one  at  an  upper  Avindow  spat 
upon  him. 

Monks  again — Frati  Umihati,  or  Humbled  Brethren,  from 
Ognissanti,  with  a  glorious  tradition  of  being  the  earliest  work- 
ers in  the  wool-trade ;  and  again  more  monks — Vallombrosan 
and  other  varieties  of  Benedictines,  reminding  the  instructed 
eye  by  niceties  of  form  and  color  that  in  ages  of  abuse,  long 
ago,  reformers  had  arisen  who  had  marked  a  change  of  spirit 
by  a  change  of  gai-b ;  till  at  last  the  sliaven  crowns  were  at 
an  end,  and  there  came  the  train  of  untonsured  secular  priests. 

Then  followed  the  twenty-one  incorporated  Arts  of  Florence 
in  long  array,  with  their  bannei-s  floating  above  them  in  proud 
declaration  that  the  bearers  had  their  distinct  functions,  from 
the  bakers  of  bread  to  the  judges  and  notaries.  And  then  all 
the  secondary  officers  of  State,  beginning  with  the  less  and 
going  on  to  the  greater,  till  the  line  of  secularities  was  broken 
by  the  Canons  of  the  Uuomo,  carrying  a  sacred  relic — the 
veiy  head,  inclosed  in  silver,  of  San  Zenobio,  immortal  bishop 
of  Jb'lorence,  whose  virtues  Mere  held  to  have  saved  the  city 
perhaps  a  thousand  years  before. 

Here  was  the  nucleus  of  the  procession.  Behind  the  relic 
came  the  archbishop  in  gorgeous  cope,  with  cano])y  held  above 
him ;  and  after  him  the  mysterious  hidden  Image — hidden 
first  by  rich  curtains  of  brocade  inclosing  an  outer  painted 
tabernacle,  but  within  this,  by  the  more  ancient  tabei-nacle 
which  had  never  been  opened  in  the  menxory  of  living  men,  or 
the  fathers  of  living  men.  In  that  inner  shrine  was  the  imajre 
of  the  Pitying  Mother,  found  ages  ago  in  the  soil  of  L'lmpru- 
neta,  uttering  a  cry  as  the  spade  struck  it.  Hitherto  the  un- 
seen Image  had  hardly  ever  been  carried  to  the  Duomo  with- 
out having  rich  gifts  borne  before  it.  There  was  no  reciting 
the  list  of  pi-ecious  offerings  made  by  emulous  men  and  com- 
munities, especially  of  veils  and  curtains  and  mantles.  But 
the  richest  of  all  these,  it  was  said,  had  been  given  by  a  poor 
abbess  and  her  nuns,  who,  having  no  money  to  buy  materials, 
wove  a  mantle  of  gold  brocade  with  their  prayers,  embroidei'- 
ed  it  and  adorned  it  with  their  ]n-ayers,  and,  finally,  saw  their 
work  presented  to  the  Blessed  Virgin  in  the  great  Piazza  by 
tv\'o  beautiful  youths  who  spread  out  white  wings  and  vanished 
in  the  blue. 

But  to-day  there  were  no  gifts  carried  before  the  tabernacle  : 
no  donations  were  to  be  given  to-day  except  to  the  poor. 
That  had  been  the  advice  of  Fra  Girolamo,  whose  preaching 


340  KOMOLA. 

never  insistccl  on  gifts  to  the  invisible  powers,  but  only  on  help 
to  visible  need  ;  ami  altars  had  been  raisi'd  at  various  points 
in  front  of  tlie  ehurehes,  on  which  the  oblations  for  the  poor 
were  deposited.  Not  even  a  torch  was  cai'ried.  Surely  the 
hidden  mother  cared  less  for  torches  and  broca<le  than  for  the 
wail  of  the  hungry  peoj)le.  Florence  was  in  extremity  :  she 
had  done  her  utmost,  and  could  only  wait  for  something  divine 
that  was  not  in  her  own  power. 

The  Frate  in  the  torn  mantle  had  said  that  helj)  would  cer- 
tainly come,  and  many  of  the  faint-hearted  were  clinging  more 
to  their  faith  in  the  Frate's  word  than  to  their  faith  in  the  vir- 
tues of  the  unseen  Image,  liut  there  were  not  a  few  of  the 
fierce-hearted  who  thought  with  secret  rejoicing  that  the 
Frate's  word  might  be  proved  false. 

Slowly  the  tabernacle  moved  forward,  and  knees  were  bent. 
There  was  ]>rofouiid  stillness;  for  the  train  of  priests  and 
chaplains  from  L'Impruneta  stirred  no  passion  in  the  on-look- 
ers.  The  procession  was  about  to  close  with  the  Priors  and 
the  Gonfaloniere  ;  the  long  train  of  companies  and  symbols, 
which  have  their  silent  music  and  stir  the  mind  as  a  chorus 
stirs  it,  was  ])assing  out  of  sight,  and  now  a  faint  yearning 
hope  was  all  that  struggled  with  the  accustomed  despondency, 

Komola,  whose  heart  had  l)een  swelling,  half  with  foreboding, 
half  with  that  enthusiasm  of  foUowship  which  the  life  of  the 
last  two  years  had  made  as  habitual  to  her  as  the  conscious- 
ness of  costume  to  a  vain  and  idle  woman,  gave  a  deep  sigh,  as 
at  the  end  of  some  long  mental  tension,  and  remaine<l  on  lier 
knees  for  very  languor;  when  suddenly  there  Hashed  from  be- 
tween the  houses  on  to  the  distant  bri<lge  something  bi'ight- 
colored.  In  tlu;  instant  llomola  started  up  and  stretched  out 
her  arms,  leaning  from  the  window,  while  the  black  drajiery 
fell  from  her  head,  and  the  golden  gleam  of  her  hair  and  the 
flush  in  her  face  seemed  the  effect  of  one  illumination.  A 
shout  arose  in  the  same  instant ;  the  last  troo])S  of  the  ])ro- 
cession  paused,  and  all  faces  were  turned  towards  the  distant 
bridge. 

But  the  bridge  was  passed  now ;  the  horseman  was  press- 
ing at  full  gallop  along  by  the  Arno  ;  the  sides  of  his  bay 
horse,  just  streaked  with  foam,  looked  all  white  from  swift- 
ness ;  his  cap  was  flying  loose  by  his  red  becchetto,  and  he 
waved  an  olive  branch  in  his  h.and.  It  was  a  messetiger — a 
messenger  of  good  tidings  !  The  blessed  olive  branch  spoke 
afar  off.  lint  the  imjiatient  people  could  not  wait.  They 
rushed  to  meet  the  on-comer,  and  seizeil  his  horse's  rein,  push- 
ing and  trampling. 

iViid  now  Uomolu  could  see  that  the  horseman  was  her  hus- 


ROMOLA.  341 

band,  who  had  been  sent  to  Pisa  a  few  days  before  on  a  pri- 
vate embassy.  The  recognition  brought  no  new  flash  of  joy 
into  her  eyes.  She  had  checked  her  first  impulsive  attitude 
of  expectation ;  but  her  governing  anxiety  was  still  to  know 
what  news  of  relief  had  come  for  Florence. 

"  Good  news  !"  "  Best  news !"  "  News  to  be  paid  with  hose 
{novelle  da  calze)  !"  were  the  vague  answers  with  which  Tito 
met  the  importunities  of  the  crowd,  until  he  had  succeeded  in 
pushing  on  his  horse  to  the  spot  at  the  meeting  of  the  ways 
Avhere  the  Gonfaloniere  and  the  priors  were  awaiting  him. 
There  he  paused,  and,  bowing  low,  said  : 

"  Magnificent  Signori !  I  have  to  deliver  to  you  the  joyful 
news  that  the  galleys  from  France,  laden  with  corn  and  men, 
have  arrived  safely  in  the  port  of  Leghorn,  by  favor  of  a  strong 
wind,  which  kept  the  enemy's  fleet  at  a  distance." 

The  words  had  no  sooner  left  Tito's  lips  than  they  seemed 
to  vibrate  up  the  streets.  A  great  shout  rang  througli  the  air, 
and  rushed  along  the  river ;  and  then  another,  and  another ; 
and  the  shouts  were  heard  spreading  along  the  Hue  of  the  pro- 
cession towards  the  Duomo  ;  and  then  there  were  fainter  an- 
swering shouts,  like  the  intermediate  plash  of  distant  waves  in 
a  great  lake  whose  waters  obey  one  impulse. 

For  some  minutes  there  was*  no  attempt  to  speak  furj^her: 
the  Signoria  thetnselves  lifted  up  their  cai>s,  and  stood  bare- 
headed in  the  presence  of  a  rescue  which  liad  come  from  out- 
side the  limit  of  their  own  power — from  that  region  of  trust 
and  resignation  which  has  been  in  all  ages  called  divine. 

At  last,  as  the  signal  was  given  to  move  forward,  Tito  said, 
with  a  smile : 

"  I  ought  to  say  that  any  hose  to  be  bestowed  by  the  Mag- 
nificent Signoria,  in  reward  of  these  tidings,  are  due,  not  to 
me,  but  to  another  man,  who  had  ridden  hard  to  bring  them, 
and  would  have  been  here  in  my  place  if  his  horse  had  not 
broken  down  just  before  he  reached  Signa.  Meo  di  Sasso 
will  doubtless  be  here  in  an  hour  or  two,  and  may  all  the 
more  justly  claim  the  glory  of  the  messenger,  because  he  has 
had  the  chief  labor  and  has  lost  the  chief  delight." 

It  was  a  graceful  way  of  putting  a  necessary  statement,  and 
after  a  word  of  reply  from  the  Proposto,  or  spokesman  of  the 
Signoria,  this  dignified  extremity  of  the  procession  passed  on, 
and  Tito  turned  his  horse's  head  to  follow  in  its  train,  while 
the  great  bell  of  the  Palazzo  Vecchio  was  already  beginning  to 
swing,  and  give  a  louder  voice  to  the  people's  joy. 

In  that  moment,  when  Tito's  attention  had  ceased  to  be 
imperatively  directed,  it  might  have  been  expected  that  he 
would  look  round  and  recognize  Romola :  but  he  was  appar* 


342  ROMOI.A, 

ently  engafjod  with  his  caj>,wliicli,  now  tlic  eager  people  were 
Icadini,'  liis  horse,  he  was  able  to  seize  and  place  on  his  head, 
while  iiis  right  hand  was  still  encumbered  with  the  olive- 
branch.  He  had  a  becoming  air  of  lassitude  after  his  exer- 
tions; and  Komola,  instead  of  making  any  effort  to  be  recoo-. 
nized  by  him,  threw  her  black  drapery  over  lier  head  again 
and  remained  perfectly  quiet.  Yet  she  felt  almost  sure"lhat 
Tito  had  seen  her  ;  he  had  the  power  of  seeing  every  thin<' 
without  seeming  to  see  it.  * 


CILVPTEIi  XLIV. 

THE    VISIBLE    MADONNA. 

The  crowd  liad  no  sooner  passed  onward  than  Iloniola 
descended  to  the  street,  and  hastened  to  the  steps  of  San 
Stefano.  Cecco  liad  Ijcen  attracted  Avith  the  rest  towards  the 
Piazza,  and  she  found  Baldassarre  standing  alone  against  the 
church-door,  with  the  horn  cup  in  his  hand,  waiting  for  her. 
There  was  a  striking  change  in  liim  ;  the  blank,  dreamy 
glance  of  a  halt-returned  consciousness  had  yiven  ])lace  to  a 
fierceness  wiiicli,  as  she  advitnced  and  s])oke  to  him,  Hashed 
upon  her  as  if  she  had  been  its  object.  It  was  the  glance  of 
caged  fury  that  sees  its  ])rey  jiassing  safe  beyond  the  bars. 

IJomola  started  as  the  glance  was  turned  on  hei-,  but  her 
immediate  thought  was  that  he  had  seen  Tito.  And  as  she 
felt  the  look  of  hatred  grating  on  her,  something  like  a  hope 
arose  that  this  man  might  be  the  criminal,  and  that  her  hus- 
band might  nut  have  been  guilty  towards  him.  If  she  could 
learn  that  now,  by  bringing  Tito  face  to  face  with  him,  and 
liave  her  mind  set  at  rest  ! 

"If  yon  will  come  with  me,"  she  said,  "  I  can  give  you 
shelter  and  food  until  you  are  quite  rested  and  strong.  VVill 
you  come  V" 

"Yes,"  said  r>aldassarre ;  "T  shall  be  glad  to  get  my 
strength.  I  want  to  get  my  strength,"  he  repeated,  as  if  he 
were  muttering  to  himself  rather  than  speaking  to  her. 

'Come,"  she  said,  inviting  him  to  walk  by  her  side,  and 
taking  the  way  by  the  Arno  towards  the  Ponte  Itubaconteas 
the  more  private  road. 

"  I  think  you  are  not  a  Florentine,"  she  said,  presently,  as 
they  turned  on  to  the  l)ridge. 

He  looked  round  at  her  without  speaking.  His  suspicious 
caution  was  more  strongly  upon  him  than  usual,  just  now 
that  the  fog  of  confusion  and  oblivion  was  made  denser  by 


KOMOLA.  343 

• 

bodily  feebleness.  But  she  was  locking  r.t  liiin  too,  and  there 
was  something  in  her  gentle  eyes  wh.ch  at  last  compelled 
him  to  answei-^her.     But  he  answered  cautiously. 

"'  Ko,  I  am  no  Florentine ;  I  am  a  lonely  man." 

She  observed  his  reluctance  to  speak  to  her,  and  dared  not 
question  him  further,  lest  he  should  desire  to  quit  her.  As 
she  glanced  at  him  from  time  to  time,  her  mind  was  busy  with 
thoughts  which  quenched  the  faint  hope  that  there  was  noth- 
ing painful  to  be  revealed  about  her  husband.  If  this  old. 
man  had  been  in  the  wrong,  where  was  the  cause  for  dread 
and  secrecy  ?  They  walked  on  in  silence  till  they  reached 
the  entrance  into  the  Via  de'  Bardi,  and  Romoia  noticed  that 
he  turned  and  looked  at  her  with  a  sudden  movement  as  if 
some  shock  had  passed  through  him.  A  few  moments  after 
she  paused  at  the  half-open  door  of  the  court,  and  turned  to- 
wards him. 

"  Ah  !"  he  said,  not  waiting  for  her  to  speak,  "  you  are  his 
wife." 

"  Whose  wife  ?"  said  Romoia,  flushing  and  trembling. 

It  would  liave  been  impossible  for  Baldassarre  to  recall 
any  name  at  that  moment.  The  very  force  with  Avhich  the 
image  of  Tito  pressed  upon  him  seemed  to  expel  any  verbal 
sign.  He  made  no  answer,  but  looked  at  her  with  strange  fix- 
edness. 

She  opened  the  door  wide  and  showed  the  court  covered 
with  straw,  on  which  lay  four  or  five  sick  people,  while  some 
little  children  crawled  or  sat  on  it  at  their  ease — tiny  pale 
creatures,  biting  straws  and  gurgling. 

"  If  you  will  come  in,"  said  Romoia,  tremulously,  "  I  will 
find  you  a  comfortable  place,  ancf  bring  you  some  more  food." 

"No,  I  will  not  come  in,"  said  Baldassarre.  But  he  stood 
still,  arrested  by  the  burden  of  impressions  under  which  his 
mind  was  too  confused  to  choose  a  course. 

"  Can  I  do  nothing  for  you  ?"  said  Romoia.  "  Let  me  give 
you  some  money  that  you  may  buy  food.  It  will  be  more 
plentiful  soon." 

She  had  put  her  hand  into  her  scarsella  as  she  spoke,  and 
held  out  her  palm  with  several  grossi  in  it.  She  purposely 
offered  him  more  than  she  would  have  given  to  any  other 
man  in  the  same  circumstances.  He  looked  at  the  coins  a  lit- 
tle while,  and  then  said, 

'J  Yes,  I  will  take  them." 

She  poured  the  coins  into  his  palm,  and  he  grasped  them 
tightly. 

^"Tell  me,"  said  Romoia,  almost  beseechingly.     "What 
sliall  you — " 


:^4{  KOMOLA. 

But  TxiM.issanv  had  tiiriicd  awav  from  lior,  and  wap  walk- 
incf  a^aiii  towards  tlie  bridge.  J'assiiig  iVoiu  it,  straight  on 
u|»  the  Via  dcd  Fosso,  he  canii'  ujjon  the  sliop  of  Aiccolo  Ca- 
j)arra,  and  turned  towards  it  without  a  j)ause,  as  if  it  had  been 
tlie  very  object  of  his  seareh.  Niocoh!)  was  at  tliat  moment 
in  procession  with  the  armorers  of  Florence,  and  there  was 
oidy  one  apprentice  in  the  shoj).  l>ut  there  were  all  sorts  of 
■weapons  in  abundance  hangin;^  there,  and  Ixildassarre's  eyes 
discerned  what  he  was  more  hungry  for  than  lor  bread. 
Niccolo  liimself  would  probably  have  refused  to  sell  any 
thing  that  migh.t  serve  as  a  weapon  to  this  man  with  signs 
of  tlie  ))rison  on  him;  but  the  a))prentice,  less  ol)servant  and 
8cruj)ulous,  took  three  f/i-os.ti  for  a  sharj)  hunting-knife  with- 
out any  hesitation.  It  Avas  a  conveniently  small  weapouj 
■which  IJaUlassarre  could  easily  thrust  Mithin  the  breast  of 
his  tunic  ;  and  he  walked  on,  feeimg  stronger.  That  sharp 
edge  might  give  deadliness  to  the  thrust  of  an  aged  arm  :  at 
least  it  was  a  companion,  it  was  a  power  in  league  with  him, 
even  if  it  failed.  It  would  break  against  armor;  but  was  the 
armor  sure  to  be  always  there?  In  those  long  months  while 
vengeance  had  lain  in  prison,  baseness  had  perhaps  become 
forgetful  and  secure.  The  knife  had  been  bought  with  the 
traitor's  own  money.  That  was  just.  Before  he  took  the 
money  he  had  felt  Avhat  he  should  do  with  it — buy  a  weapon. 
Yes,  and  if  possible,  food  too:  food  to  nourish  the  arm  that 
Avould  grasp  the  weapon,  food  to  nourish  the  body  which  was 
the  temple  of  vengeance.  When  he  had  had  enough  bread  he 
should  be  able  to  think  and  act — to  think  iirst  how  he  could 
hide  himself,  lest  the  traitor  should  have  him  dra'jfcrcMl  away 
again.  With  that  idea  of  hiding  in  his  mind  Baldassarre 
turned  up  the  narrowest  streets,  bought  himself  some  meat 
and  bread,  and  sat  down  under  the  first  loggia  to  eat.  The 
bells  that  swung  out  louder  and  louder  ])eals  of  joy,  laying 
hold  of  him  and  making  him  vibrate  along  with  all  the  air, 
seemed  to  him  simply  part  of  that  strong  world,  which  was 
against  him. 

liomola  had  watched  Baldassai'i'e  until  he  had  disappear- 
ed round  the  turning  into  the  Piazza  de'  Mozzi,  half  feeling 
that  his  departure  was  a  relief,  half  reproaching  herself  for 
not  seeking  with  more  decision  to  know  the  truth  about  him, 
for  not  assuring  herself  whether  there  were  any  giiiltless  mis- 
ery in  his  lot  which  she  was  not  helpless  to  relieve.  Yet 
what  could  she  have  done  if  the  truth  ha<l  ))rov('(l  to  be  the 
bui"den  of  some  painful  secret  about  her  husband,  in  addition 
to  the  anxieties  that  already  ■weighed  upon  her?  Surely  a 
wife   "was   j)ermitted   to    desire    ignorance    of  a    liusband's 


ROMOLA.  345 

wronw-doing,  since  she  alone  must  not  protest  and  warn  ttien 
against  him.  But  that  thought  stirred  too  many  intricate 
fibres  of  feeling  to  he  pursued  now  in  her  weariness.  It  was 
a  time  to  rejoice^  since  help  liad  come  to  Florence ;  and  she 
turned  into  the  court  to  tell  the  good  news  to  her  patients 
on  their  straw  beds.  She  closed  the  door  after  her,  lest  the 
bells  sliould  drown  her  voice,  and  then  throwing  the  black 
drapery  from  her  head,  that  the  women  might  see  her  better, 
she  stood  in  the  midst  and  told  them  that  corn  was  coming, 
and  that  the  bells  M'ere  ringing  for  gladness  at  the  news. 
They  all  sat  up  to  listen,  while  the  children  trotted  or  crawl- 
ed towards  her,  and  pulled  her  black  skirts,  as  if  they  were 
impatient  at  being  all  that  long  way  off  her  face.  She  yield- 
ed to  them,  weary  as  she  was,  and  sat  down  on  the  straw, 
while  the  little  pale  things  peeped  into  her  basket  and  pulled 
her  hair  down,  and  the  feeble  voices  around  her  said,  "The 
Holv  Vir<rin  be  praised  !"     "  It  Avas  the  procession  !" 

"'The  Mother  of  God  has  had  pity  on  us  !" 

At  last  Komola  rose  from  the  heap  of  straw,  too  tired  to 
try  and  smile  any  longer,  saying  as  she  turned  up  the  stone 
stejDS, 

"  I  will  come  by-and-by  to  bring  you  your  dinner." 

"  Bless  you,  madonna  !  bless  you  !"  said  the  faint  chorus, 
in  much  the  same  tone  as  that  in  which  they  had  a  few  min- 
utes before  praised  and  thanked  the  unseen  Madonna. 

Ttomola  cared  a  great  deal  for  that  music.  She  had  no 
innate  taste  for  tending  the  sick  and  clothing  the  ragged, 
like  some  women  to  whom  the  details  of  such  work  are  welcome 
in  themselves,  simply  as  an  occupation.  Her  early  training 
liad  kept  her  aloof  from  such  womanly  labors  ;  and  if  she  had 
not  brought  to  them  the  inspiration  of  her  deepest  feelings, 
they  M'ould  have  been  irksome  to  her.  But  they  had  come 
to  be  the  oneunshaken  resting-place  of  her  mind,  the  one  nar- 
row pathway  on  which  the  light  fell  clear.  If  the  gulf  be- 
tween herself  and  Tito,  which  only  gathered  a  more  percep- 
tible wideness  from  her  attempts  to  bridge  it  by  submission, 
brought  a  doubt  Avhether,  after  all,  the  bond  to  which  she 
had  labored  to  be  true  might  not  itself  be  false — if  she  came 
away  from  her  confessor,  Fra  Salvestro,  or  from  some  contact 
with  the  disciples  of  Savonarola  among  whom  she  worshipped, 
with  a  sickening  sense  that  these  people  were  miserably  nar- 
row, and  with  an  almost  impetuous  reaction  towards  her  old 
contempt  for  their  superstition — she  found  herself  recovering 
a  firm  footing  in  lier  works  of  womanly  sympathy.  What- 
ever else  made  her  doubt,  the  help  she  gave  to  her  fellow-citi- 
zens made  her  sure  that  Fra  Girolamo  had  been  right  to  call 

15* 


-snrTqp^r: 


W^ 


N-f  1^ 


JVu-  I  ;j:i'.i.  JUidonna. — Page  345. 


ROMOLA.  347 

her  back.  According  to  his  unforgottcn  words,  her  place  had 
not  been  empty :  it  had  been  filled  with  her  love  and  her  la- 
bor, Florence  had  had  need  of  her,  and  the  more  her  own 
sorrow  pressed  upon  her  the  more  gladness  she  felt  in  the 
memories,  stretching  through  the  two  long  years,  of  hours 
and  moments  in  which  she  had  lightened  the  burden  of  life 
to  others.  All  that  ardor  of  her  nature  which  could  no 
longer  spend  itself  in  the  woman's  tenderness  for  father 
ancT  husband  had  transformed  itself  into  an  enthusiasm  of 
sympathy  with  the  general  life.  She  had  ceased  to  think 
that  her  own  lot  could  be  happy — had  ceased  to  think  of 
happiness  at  all ;  the  one  end  of  her  life  seemed  to  her  to  be 
the  diminishing  of  sorrow. 

Her  enthusiasm  was  continually  stirred  to  fi-esh  vigor  by 
the  influence  of  Savonarola,  In  spite  of  the  wearisome  visions 
and  allegories  from  which  she  recoiled  in  disgust  when  they 
came  as  stale  repetitions  from  other  lii)s  than  his,  her  strong 
afiinity  for  his  passionate  sympathy  and  the  splendor  of  Ms 
aims  had  lost  none  of  its  power.  His  burning  indignation 
against  the  abuses  and  oppression  that  made  the  daily  story 
of  the  Church  and  of  States  had  kindled  the  ready  fire  in  her 
too.  His  special  care  for  liberty  and  purity  of  goverment  in 
Florence,  with  his  constant  reference  of  this  immediate  ob- 
ject to  the  wider  end  of  a  universal  regeneration,  had  created 
in  her  a  new  consciousness  of  the  great  drama  of  human  ex- 
istence in  which  her  life  was  a  part ;  and  through  her  daily 
helpful  contact  with  the  less  fortunate  of  her  fellow-citizens 
this  new  consciousness  became  something  stronger  than  a 
vague  sentiment ;  it  grew  into  a  more  and  more  definite  mo- 
tive of  self  denying  practice.  She  thought  little  about  dogmas, 
and  shrank  from  reflecting  closely  on  tlie  Frate's  prophecies 
of  the  immediate  scourge  and  closely  following  regeneration. 
She  had  submitted  her  mind  to  his  and  had  entered  into  com- 
munion with  the  Church,  because  in  this  way  she  had  found 
an  immediate  satisfaction  for  moral  needs  which  all  the  pre- 
vious culture  and  experience  of  her  life  had  left  hungering. 
Fra  Girolamo's  voice  had  waked  in  her  mind  a  reason  for 
living,  apart  from  personal  enjoyment  and  personal  afiection; 
but  it  was  a  reason  that  seemed  to  need  feeding  with  greater 
forces  than  she  possessed  within  herself,  and  her  submissive 
use  of  all  offices  of  the  Church  was  simply  a  Avatching  and 
waiting  if  by  any  means  fresh  strength  might  come.  The 
pressing  problem  for  Romola  just  then  was  not  to  settle  ques- 
tions of  controversy,  but  to  keep  alive  that  flame  of  unselfish 
emotion  by  which  a  life  of  sadness  might  still  be  a  life  of  act- 
ive love. 


348  KOMOLA. 

Tier  trust  in  Savonarola's  nature  as  ijroator  than  her  own 
niatU'  a  largo  ])ait  of  the  slroiigth  she  had  louiitl.  And  the 
trust  was  not  to  be  lightly  shaken.  It  is  not  force  of  intellect 
which  causes  ready  repulsion  from  the  aberrations  and  eccen- 
tricities of  greatness,  any  more  tlian  it  is  force  of  vision  tliat 
causes  the  eye  to  explore  the  warts  on  a  face  bright  with  hu- 
man expression  ;  it  is  simply  the  negation  of  high  sensibilities. 
Homola  was  so  deeply  moved  by  tlie  grand  energies  of  Savo- 
narola's nature  tliat  she  found  herself  listening  patiently  to  all 
ylogmas  and  prophecies,  when  they  came  in  the  vehicle  of  his 
ardent  laith  and  believing  utterance.* 

No  soul  is  desolate  as  long  as  there  is  a  liuman  being  for 
whom  it  can  feel  trust  and  reverence.  Komola's  trust  in 
Savonarola  was  something  like  a  rope  suspended  securely 
by  her  path,  making  her  step  elastic  while  she  grasped  it; 
if  it  were  suddenly  removed,  no  iirmness  of  the  ground  she 
trod  could  save  her  from  staggering,  or  perhaps  from  falling. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

AT  TUB  barber's   SHOP. 


After  that  welcome  appearance  as  the  messenger  with 
the  olive-branch,  which  was  an  nn])romised  favor  of  fortune, 
Tito  had  other  commissions  to  fultill  of  a  more  premeditated 
character.  He  ])aused  at  the  Palazzo  Yccchio,  and  awaited 
there  the  return  of  the  Ten,  who  managed  external  and  war 
affairs,  that  he  might  duly  deliver  to  them  the  results  of  his 
piivate  mission  to  Pisa,  intenih'(l  as  a  ))relimiMary  to  an 
avowed  embassy  of  which  IJernartlo  liuceUai  was  U)  be  the 
liead,  wit]»  the  object  of  coming,  if  possible,  to  a  pacific  un- 
derstanding with  the  Kmi»eror  .Maximilian  and  the  League. 

Tito's  talents  for  dij»lomati(^  work  had  been  well  ascer- 
tained, and  as  he  gave  with  fullness  and  j)recision  the  lesults 
of  his  inquiries  and  interviews,  Bernardo  del  Nero,  who  was 
at  that  time  one  of  the  Ten,  could  not  withliold  his  admira- 
tion. He  would  have  withheld  it  if  he  could;  for  his  origi- 
nal dislike  of  Tito  liad  returned,  and  become  stronger,  since 

*  He  liiiiiself  liail  li.iil  occasion  enoiif;li  to  note  the  cflicncy  of  tliat  vehicle. 
"If,"  he  says  in  tlie  Com/imdium  Revc/ittiomiiii,  "yon  s])Cak  of  such  as  have 
not  heard  these  things  from  me,  I  admit  that  they  wiio  dishcheve  are  more 
than  tiiey  wiio  hoHeve.  hecanse  it  is  one  lliinj;  to  liear  iiim  wiio  inwardly  feels 

these  tiiinf;s.  and  another  to  hear  him  wiio  fcelsthem  not: and  therefore 

it  is  well  said  iiy  St.  .rerome,  '  llahct  nescio  ([iiid  latentis  energiic  vivrc  vocis 
•otus,  et  in  aures  discipiili  de  auctoris  ore  transfus»«  fortis  sonat.'" 


EOMOLA,  349 

the  sale  of  the  library.  Roraola  had  never  uttered  a  word 
to  her  godfather  on  the  circumstances  of  the  sale,  and  Ber- 
nardo had  understood  her  silence  as  a  prohibition  to  him  to 
enter  on  the  subject,  but  he  felt  sure  that  the  breach  of  her 
fathers  wish  had  been  a  blighting  grief  to  her,  and  the  old 
man's  keen  eyes  discerned  other  indications  that  her  married 
life  was  not  happy. 

"Ah  "he  said,  inwardly,  "  that  doubtless  is  the  reason 
she  has  taken  to  listening  to  Fra  Girolamo,  and  gomg  among_ 
the  Piagnoni,  which  I  never  expected  from  her.  These  wom- 
en, if  they  are  not  happy,  and  have  no  children,  must  either 
take  to  lolly  or  to  some  overstrained  religion  that  makes 
them  think  that  they've  got  all  heaven's  work  on  their  shoul- 
ders. And  aa  for  my  poor  child  Romola,  it  is  as  I  always . 
said — the  cramming  'with  Latin  and  Greek  has  left  her  as 
much  a  woman  as  if  she  had  done  nothing  all  day  but  prick 
her  fingers  with  the  needle.  And  this  husband  of  hers,  who 
gets  employed  everywhere,  because  he's  a  tool  with  a  smooth 
handle,  I  wish  Tornabuoni  and  the  rest  may  not  find  their 
fingers  cut.  Well,  well,  solco  torto,  sacco  dritto — many  a 
full  sack  comes  from  a  crooked  fui-row :  and  he  who  will  be 
captain  of  none  but  honest  men  will  have  small  hire  to  pay." 

With  this  long-established  conviction  that  there  could  be 
no  moral  sifting  of  political  agents,  the  old  Florentine  ab- 
stained from  ali  interference  in  Tito's  disfavor.  Apart  from 
what  must  be  kept  sacred  and  private  for  Romola's  sake, 
Bernardo  had  nothing  distinct  to  allege  against  the  useful 
Greek,  except  that  he  was  a  Greek,  and  that  he,  Bernardo, 
did  not  like  him  ;  for  the  doubleness  of  feigning  attachment 
to  the  popular  government  w^hile  at  heart  a  Medicean  Avas 
common  to  Tito  with  more  than  half  the  Medicean  party. 
He  only  feigned  with  more  skill  tlian  the  rest :  that  Avas  all. 
80  Bernardo  was  simply  cold  to  Tito,  who  returned  the  cold- 
ness with  a  scrupulous,"distant  respect.  And  it  was  still  the 
notion  in  Florence  that  the  old  tie  betAveen  Bernardo  and 
Bardo  made  any  service  done  to  Romola's  husband  an  ac- 
ceptable homage  to  her  godfather. 

After  delivering  himself  of  his  charge  at  the  Old  Palace, 
rito  felt  that  the  avowed  official  work'of  the  day  Avas  done. 
He  was  tired  and  adust  Avith  long  riding ;  but  he  did  not  go 
home.  There  Avere  certain  things  in  his  scarsella  and  on  his 
mind  from  AA^hich  he  Avished  to  free  himself  as  soon  as  possi- 
ble, but  the  opportunities  must  be  found  so  skillfully  that 
they  must  not  seem  to  be  sought.  He  Avalked  from  the  Pa- 
lazzo in  a  sauntering  fashion  towards  the  Piazza  del  Duo- 
mo.      The    procession   Avas  at  an   end    now,  but  the  bells 


350  IIOMOI.A. 

were  still  rinirincr,  and  the  people  were  moving  nhont  tlie 
streets  rostk-ssly,  lonjjjing  l<>r  some  more  (lefiiiite  vent  to  their 
joy.  If  the  Frate  ouiiUl  have  stood  up  in  the  great  I'iazza 
and  preached  to  them  they  might  have  been  satisfied,  but 
now,  in  si)ite  of  the  new  discipline  whieh  di-elartMl  Christ  to 
be  the  special  King  of  the  Florentines  and  required  all  pleas- 
ures to  be  of  a  Christian  sort,  there  was  a  secret  longing  in 
i::any  ofthc  youngsters  who  shouted  "A'iva  (iesu!"  lor  a  lit- 
tle vigorous  stone-throwing  in  sign  of  thankfulness. 

Tito  as  he  passed  along  coulil  not  escape  being  recognized 
by  some  as  the  welcome  bearer  of  the  olive-branch,  and  could 
only  rid  himself  of  an  inconvenient  ovation,  chiefly  in  the 
form  of  eager  (piestions,  by  telling  those  who  ])ressed  on  him 
that  Meo  di  Sasso,  the  true  messenger  from  Leghorn,  must 
now  be  enterin<j:,  and  might  certaiidv  be  Tnct  towards  the 
Porta  San  Frediano.  He  could  tell  much  more  than  lito 
knew. 

Freeing  himself  from  importunities  in  this  adroit  manner, 
he  made  his  way  to  the  Piazza  del  Duomo,  easting  his  long 
eyes  round  the  space  with  an  air  of  the  utmost  carelessness, 
but  really  seeking  to  detect  some  presence  which  might  fur- 
nish him  with  one  of  his  desired  opportunities.  The  fact  of 
the  procession  having  terminated  at  the  Duomo  made  it 
probable  that  there  would  be  more  than  the  usual  concenti'a- 
tion  of  loungers  and  talkers  in  the  Piazza  and  round  Nello's 
shop.  It  Avas  as  he  exjiected.  There  was  a  group  leaning 
against  the  rails  near  the  north  gates  of  the  Baptistery  so 
exactly  what  he  sought  that  he  looked  more  indifterent  than 
ever  and  seemed  to  recognize  the  tallest  member  of  the  group 
entirely  by  chance  as  he  had  half  jtassed  him,  just  turning 
his  head  to  give  him  a  slight  greeting,  while  he  tossed  the 
end  of  his  becchetto  over  his  left  shoulder. 

Yet  the  tall,  l)ioad-shouldereil  jK'isonage  greeted  in  that 
slight  way  looked  like  one  who  had  considerable  claims.  IIo 
wore  a  richly  embroidered  tunic,  with  a  great  show  of  linen, 
aftei-  the  newest  French  mode,  and  at  his  belt  there  hung  a 
swonl  and  jioniard  of  fine  workmanship.  His  hat,  with  a 
red  piiune  in  it,  seemed  a  scornful  protest  against  the  gravity 
of  Florentine  costume,  which  had  been  exaggerated  to  the 
utmost  under  the  influence  of  tlu'  Piagnoni.  Certain  unde- 
tinahle  indicaticnis  of  youth  made  the  breadth  of  his  face  and 
the  liirge  diameter  of  his  waist  appear  the  more  emphatically 
a  stam|>  of  coarseness,  and  his  eyes  had  that  rutle  desecrating 
stare  at  all  men  and  things  which  to  a  refined  mind  is  as  in- 
tolerable as  a  bad  odor  or  a  flaring  light. 

Ife  and  his  companions,  also  young  men  dressed  expen- 


ROMOLA.  351 

sively  and  wearing  arms,  wci'e  exchanging  jokes  with  that 
sort  of  ostentatious  laughter  which  iraj^lies  a  desire  to  prove 
that  the  laughter  is  not  mortitied  though  some  people  might 
suspect  it.  There  were  good  reasons  for  such  a  suspicion  ; 
for  this  broad-shouldered  man  with  the  red  feather  was  Dol- 
fo  Spini,  leader  of  the  Compaqnacci^ox  Evil  Companions — 
that  is  to  say,  of  all  the  dissolute  young  men  belonging  to 
Ahe  old  aristocratic  party,  enemies  of  the  Mediceans,  enemies 
of  the  popular  government,  but  still  more  bitter  enemies  of 
Savonarola.  Dolfo  Spini,  heir  of  the  great  house  with  the 
loggia,  over  the  bridge  of  the  Santa  Trinita,  had  organized 
these  young  men  into  an  armed  band,  as  sworn  champions 
of  extravagant  suppers  and  all  the  pleasant  sins  of  the  flesh, 
against  reforming  pietists  who  threatened  to  make  the  world 
chaste  and  temperate  to  so  intolerable  a  degree  that  there 
would  soon  be  no  reason  for  living,  except  the  extreme  un- 
pleasantness of  the  alternative.  Up  to  this  very  morning  he 
had  been  loudly  declaring  that  Florence  was  given  up  to 
famine  and  ruin  entirely  through  its  blind  adherence  to  the 
advice  of  the  Frate,  and  that  there  could  be  no  salvation  for 
Florence  but  in  joining  the  League  and  driving  the  Frate  out 
of  the  city — sending  him  to  Rome,  in  fact,  Avhither  he  ought 
to  have  gone  long  ago  in  obedience  to  the  summons  of  the 
Pope.  It  was  suspected,  therefore,  that  Messer  Dolfo  Spini's 
heart  was  not  aglow  with  pure  joy  at  the  unexpected  suc- 
cors, which  had  come  in  apparent  fulfillment  of  the  Frate's 
prediction,  and  the  laughter,  which  was  ringing  out  afresh  as 
Tito  joined  the  group  at  Xello's  door,  did  not  serve  to  dissi- 
pate the  suspicion.  For  leaning  against  the  door-post  in  the 
centre  of  the  group  was  a  close-shaven,  keen-eyed  personage, 
named  Niccolo  Macchiavelli,  Avho,  young  as  he  was,  had  pen- 
etrated all  the  small  secrets  of  egoism. 

"Messer  Dolfo's  head,"  he  was  saying,  "is  more  of  a 
pumpkin  than  I  thought.  I  measure  men's  dullness  by  the 
devices  they  trust  in  for  deceiving  others.  Your  dullest  ani- 
mal of  all  is  he  who  grins  and  says  he  doesn't  mind  just  af- 
ter he  has  had  his  shins  kicked.  If  I  were  a  trifle  duller 
now,"  ho  went  on,  smiling  as  the  circle  opened  to  admit  Tito, 
"  I  should  pretend  to  be  fond  of  this  Melema,  Avho  has  got  a 
secretaryship  that  would  exactly  suit  me — as  if  Latin  ill-paid 
could  love  better  Latin  that's  better  paid  !  Melema,  you  are 
a  pestiferously  clever  fellow,  very  much  in  my  Avay,  and  I'm 
sorry  to  hear  you've  had  another  piece  of  good  luck  to-day." 

"  Questionable  luck,  Xiccolo,"  said  Tito,  touching  him  on 
the  shoulder  in  a  friendly  way ;  "  I  have  got  nothing  by  it 
yet  but  being  laid  hold  of  and  breathed  upon  by  wool-beat- 


352  ROMOLA. 

ors,  wbon  T  am  as  soiled  nnd  hattorod  with  riding  as  a  tabel> 
lario  (IctttT-carricr)  Ironi  liulogiia." 

"All !  you  want  a  touch  ot*  my  art,  Messer  Oratore,"  said 
Nt'llu,  who  had  come  forward  at  the  sound  of  Tito's  voice; 
"  your  chin,  I  perceive,  has  yesterday's  crop  ujion  it.  Come, 
come — consiujn  yourself  to  the  priest  of  all  the  Pluses.  San- 
dro,  quick  with  the  lather!" 

"In  truth,  Nello,  that  is  just  what  T  most  desire  at  this  m^ 
nu'iit,'"  said  Tito,  seating  himself;  '''  and  that  was  why  I  turn- 
ed my  steps  towards  thy  shop,  instead  of  going  home  at  once, 
when  I  had  done  my  business  at  the  Palazza." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  it  is  not  fitting  that  you  should  present 
yourself  to  ^lailouna  liomola  with  a  rusty  chin  and  a  tangled 
Z'fzzera.  Nothing  that  is  not  dainty  ought  to  approach  the 
Florentine  lily;  though  I  see  her  constantly  going  about  like 
a  sunbeam  among  the  rags  that  line  our  corners — if  indeed 
she  is  not  more  like  a  moonbeam  now,  for  I  thought  yester- 
day, when  I  met  her,  that  she  looked  as  pale  and  worn  as 
that  fainting  ^Madonna  of  Fra  Giovanni's.  You  must  sec  to 
it,  my  bcl  tnulito :  she  kee^is  too  many  fasts  and  vigils  in 
your  absence." 

Tito  gave  a  melancholy  slirug.  "  Tt  is  too  true,  Xello. 
She  has  been  deitriving  herself  of  half  her  proper  food  every 
day  during  this  iamine.  But  what  can  I  do?  Her  mind- 
has  been  set  all  aHame.  A  husband's  influence  is  powerless 
against  the  Frate's." 

"  As  evei-y  other  influence  is  likely  to  be,  that  of  the  Holy 
Fathi'r  included,"  said  Domenico  Cennini,oneof  the  group  at 
the  door  who  had  turned  in  with  Tito.  "  I  don't  know 
whether  you  have  gathered  any  thing  at  Pisa  about  the  way 
the  wind  sets  at  Home,  Melema?" 

"  Secrets  of  the  council  chamber,  IMesser  Domenico !"  said 
Tito,  smiling,  and  opening  his  ])alms  in  a  dei)recatory  man- 
ner.    "An  envoy  must  be  as  dumb  as  a  lather  confessor." 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"  said  Cennini.  "  I  ask  for  no  breach 
of  that  rule.  Well,  my  belief  is,  that  if  his  Holiness  were  to 
drive  Fra  Girolamo  to  extremity,  the  Fiate  would  move 
heaven  arid  earth  to  get  a  (General  Council  of  the  Church — 
ay,  and  would  get  it  too  :  and  I,  for  one,  should  not  be  sor- 
ry, though  I'm  no  Piagnone." 

"  With  leave  of  your  greater  experience,  Messer  Domeni- 
co," said  Macchiavelli,  "1  must  difler  from  you — not  in  your 
wish  to  see  a  (TciuTal  C'ouncil  which  might  reform  the  Church, 
but  in  your  belief  that  the  Frate  will  checkmate  his  Holiness. 
Tiie  Frate's  game  is  an  inijiossihle  one.  If  lie  had  contented 
himself  with  ])reaching  against  the  vices  of  Rome,  and  with 


ROMOLA.  353 

prophesying  that  in  some  way,  not  mentioned,  Italy  woukl 
he  scourged,  depend  upon  it  Pope  Alexander  would  have  al- 
lowed him  to  spend  his  breath  in  that  way  as  long  as  ho 
could  find  hearers.  Such  spiritual  blasts  as  those  knock  no 
walls  down.  But  the  Frate  wants  to  be  something  more  than 
a  spiritual  trumpet :  he  wants  to  be  a  lever,  and  what  is 
more,  he  is  a  lever.  He  Avants  to  spread  the  doctrine  of 
Christ  by  maintaining  a  popular  government  in  Florence,  and 
the  Pope,  as  I  know,  on  the  best  "authority,  has  private  views 
to  the  contrary." 

"  Then  Florence  will  stand  by  the  Frate,"  Cennini  broke 
in,  with  some  fervor.  "  I  myself  should  prefer  that  he  would 
let  his  prophesying  alone,  but  if  our  freedom  to  choose  our 
own  government  is  to  be  attacked— I  am  an  obedient  son  of 
the  Church,  but  I  would  vote  for  resisting  Pope  Alexander 
the  Sixth,  as  our  forefathers  resisted  Pope  Gregory  the 
Eleventh." 

"  But  pardon  me,  Messer  Domenico,"  said  Macchiavelli, 
sticking  his  thumbs  into  his  belt,  and  speaking  with  that  cool 
enjoyment  of  exposition  which  surmounts  every  other  force 
in  discussion.  "  Have  you  correctly  seized  the  Frate's  posi- 
tion ?  How  is  it  that  he  has  become  a  lever,  and  made  him- 
self worth  attacking  by  an  acute  man  like  his  Holiness  ?  Be- 
cause he  has  got  the  ear  of  the  people  :  because  he  gives  them 
threats  and  promises,  which  they  believe  come  straight  from 
God,  not  only  about  hell,  pui-gatory,  and  paradise,  but  about 
Pisa  and  our  Great  Council.  But  let  events  go  against  him, 
so  as  to  shake  the  people's  faith,  and  the  cause  of  his  power 
will  be  the  cause  of  his  fall.  He  is  accumulating  three  sorts 
of  hatred  on  his  head — the  hatred  of  average  mankind  against 
every  one  who  wants  to  lay  on  them  a  strict  yoke  of  virtue; 
the  hatred  of  the  stronger  powers  in  Italy,  Avho  Avant  to  farm 
Florence  for  their  own  purposes  ;  and  the  hatred  of  the  peo- 
ple to  whom  he  has  ventured  to  promise  good  in  this  world, 
instead  of  confining  his  promises  to  the  next.  If  a  prophet 
is  to  keep  his  i)ower  he  must  be  a  prophet  like  Mohammed, 
with  an  army  at  his  back,  that  when  the  people's  faith  is 
fainting  it  may  be  frightened  into  life  again." 

"  Rather  sum  up  the  three  sorts  of  hatred  in  one,"  said 
Francesco  Cei,  impetuously,  "  and  say  he  has  won  the  hatred 
of  all  men  who  have  sense  and  honesty,  by  inventing  hypo- 
critical lies.  His  proper  place  is  among  the  false  prophets 
in  the  Inferno,  who  walk  with  their  heads  turned  hind  fore- 
most." 

"  You  are  too  angry,  my  Francesco,"  said  Macchiavelli, 
smiling  ;  "  you  poets  are  apt  to  cut  the  clouds  in  your  wrath. 


354  JtoMOLA. 

I  am  no  votary  of  tlio  Prate's,  and  would  not  lay  down  my 
littl(>  tin!jc«'r  lor  his  vi'racity.  But  voracity  is  a  )»lant  ofpar- 
adist',  ami  the  seeds  liave  never  tlourishcd  hcyoiid  the  walls. 
You  yourself,  my  Francesco,  tell  poetieal  lies  only  ;  partly 
compelled  by  the  ])oet's  fervor,  j)artly  to  ]ilease  your  audi- 
ence; but  you  object  to  lies  in  prose.  AVell,  the  Frate  dif- 
fers from  you  as  to  the  boundary  of  poetry,  that's  all.  When 
he  gets  into  the  jndpit  of  the  Duomo  he  has  the  fervor  with- 
in him,  and  without  him  he  lias  the  audience  to  please. 
Ecco  r 

"You  are  somewhat  lax  there,  Niccolo,"  said  Ccnnini, 
gravely.  "I  myself  believe  in  the  Frate's  integrity,  though 
1  don't  believe  in  his  prophecies  ;  and  as  long  as  his  integri- 
ty is  not  disproved  we  have  a  jiopular  party  strong  enough 
to  protect  him  and  resist  foreign  interference." 

"A  ])arty  that  seems  strong  enough,"  said  ]\racchiavelli, 
with  a  shrug,  and  an  almost  imi)erceptible  glance  towardsTito, 
wdio  was  abandoning  himself  with  much  enjoyment  to  Nello's 
combing  and  scenting.  "  But  how  many  ^Nlediceans  are  there 
among  you  ?  How  many  who  will  not  be  turned  round  by 
a  private  grudge?" 

"As  to  the  Mediceans,"  said  Cennini,  "I  believe  there  is 
very  little  genuine  feeling  left  on  behalf  of  the  Medici.  Who 
would  risk  much  foi- Piero  de'  Medici?  A  few  old  stanch 
friends,  perhaps,  like  Bernardo  del  Nero ;  but  even  some  of 
those  most  connected  with  the  family  are  hearty  friends  of 
the  popular  government,  and  would  exert  themselves  for  the 
Frate.  I  was  talking  to  Giannozzo  Pucci  only  a  little  while 
ago,  and  Pm  convinced  there's  nothing  he  would  set  his  face 
against  more  than  against  any  attempt  to  alter  the  new  order 
of  things." 

"  You  are  right  there,  Messer  Domenico,"  said  Tito,  with  a 
laughing  meaning  in  his  eyes,  as  he  rose  from  the  sliaving- 
chair;  ''and  1  tiincy  the  tender  |)assion  came  in  aid  of  hard 
theory  there.  I  am  persuaded  there  was  some  jealousy  at  the 
bottom  of  Giannozzo's  alienation  from  Piero  de'  ]N[edici,  else 
so  amiable  a  creature  as  he  would  never  feel  the  bitterness 
he  sometimes  allows  to  escaj)e  him  in  that  quarter,  lie  was 
in  the  procession  with  you, I  suppose?" 

"No,"  said  Cennini ;  "he  is  at  his  villa — went  there  three 
days  ago." 

Tito  was  settling  his  cap  and  glancing  down  at  his  splash- 
ed hose  as  if  he  hardly  heeded  the  answer.  In  reality  he  had 
obtained  a  much-desired  piece  of  inlbnnation.  He  had  at  that 
moment  in  his  scarsella  a  crushed  gold  ring  which  he  had  en- 
gaged to  deliver  to  Giannozzo  Pucci.      He  had  received  h 


A 


ROMOLA.  355 

from  an  envoy  of  Piero  de'  Medici,  whom  lie  liad  ridden  out 
of  his  way  to  meet  at  Certaldo  on  the  Siena  road.  Since  Puc- 
ci  was  not  in  tlie  town,  he  would  send  the  ring  by  Fra  Michele, 
a  Carthusian  lay  brother  in  the  service  of  tlie  Mediceans,  and 
the  receipt  of  that  sign  would  bring  Pucci  back  to  hear  the 
verbal  part  of  Tito's  mission. 

"  Behold  him !"  said  Xello,  flourishing  his  comb  and  point- 
ing it  at  Tito,  "the  handsomest  scholar  in  the  world  or  in 
Maremma,  now  he  has  passed  through  my  hands !  A  trifle 
thinner  in  the  face,  though,  than  when  he  came  in  his  first 
bloom  to  Florence — eh?  and,  I  vow,  there  are  some  lines  just 
faintly  hinting  themselves  about  your  mouth,  Messer  Oratore  ! 
Ah,  mind  is  an  enemy  to  beauty  !  I  myself  Avas  thought 
beautiful  by  the  women  at  one  time — when  I  was  in  my  swad- 
dling-bands. But  now — oime  !  I  carry  my  unwritten  poems 
in  cipher  on  my  face  !" 

Tito,  laughing  with  the  rest  as  Xello  looked  at  himself 
tragically  in  the  hand-mirror,  made  a  sign  of  farewell  to  the 
company  generally,  and  took  his  departui'e, 

"Pm  of  our  old  Piero  di  Cosimo's  mind,"  said  Francesco 
Cei.  "I  don't  half  like  Melema.  That  trick  of  smiling  gets 
stronger  than  ever.  No  wonder  he  has  lines  about  the 
mouth." 

"He's  too  successful,"  said  Macchiavelli,  playfully.  "  Pm 
sure  there's  something  wrong  about  him,  else  he  wouldn't 
have  that  secretaryship." 

"He's  an  able  man,"  said  Cennini,  in  a  tone  of  judicial 
fairness.  "  I  and  my  brother  have  always  found  him  useful 
with  our  Greek  sheets,  and  he  gives  great  satisfaction  to  the 
Ten.  I  like  to  see  a  young  man  work  his  way  upward  by 
merit.  And  the  secretary  Scala,  who  befriended  him  from 
the  first,  thinks  highly  of  him  still,  I  know." 

"  Doubtless,"  said  a  notary  in  the  background.  "  He  writes 
Scala's  official  letters  for  him,  or  corrects  them,  and  gets  well 
paid  for  it  too." 

"  I  wish  Messer  Bartolommeo  would  pay  me  to  doctor  his 
gouty  Latin,"  said  Macchiavelli,  with  a  shrug.  "  Did  he  tell 
you  about  the  pay,  Ser  Ceccone,  or  was  it  ]\Ielema  himself?" 
he  added, looking  at  the  notary  with  a  face  ironically  innocent. 

"  Melema  ?  no  indeed,"  answered  Ser  Ceccone.  "  He  is  as 
close  as  a  nut.  He  never  brags.  That's  why  he's  employed 
everywhere.  They  say  he's  getting  rich  with  doing  all  sorts 
of  underhand  work." 

"  It  is  a  little  too  bad,"  said  Macchiavelli,  "  and  so  many 
able  notaries  out  of  employment !" 

"  Well,  I  must  say  I  thought  that  was  a  nasty  story  a  year 


S5b  ROMOI.A. 

or  two  a<xo  about  the  man  Avho  said  ho  liad  stolon  jowols,** 
said  Cei.  "  It  t^ot  Inishod  up  sdinoliow  ;  but  I  rcuicnibcr  I'ioro 
di  C'osiino  said  at  tlii'  tiiui'  lio  btlicvod  there  was  sonietliing 
in  it,  for  he  saw  Melenia's  face  wlion  tlie  man  hiid  liold  of  liim, 
and  he  never  saw  a  visage  so  '  painted  with  fear,'  as  our  sour 
old  Dante  says." 

" Come, spit  no  more  of  tliat  venom, Francesco,"  said  Xcllo. 
getting  indignant, "  else  I  shall  consider  it  a  jiublic  diitj'"  to 
cut  y(Mir  hair  awry  the  next  time  I  get  you  under  my  scissors. 
That  story  of  the  stolen  jewels  was  a  lie.  Bernardo  liucellai 
and  the  ]\iagnificent  Eight  knew  all  abont  it.  The  man  was 
a  dauLTerous  madman,  and  he  was  very  propeily  kept  out  of 
mischief  in  ])rison.  As  for  our  Pieio  di  Cosimo,  his  wits  are 
running  after  the  wind  of  Mongibello:  he  has  such  an  ex- 
travagant fancy  that  he  would  take  a  lizard  for  a  crocodile. 
Xo  :  tiiat  story  has  been  dead  and  buried  too  long — our  noses 
object  to  it." 

"It  is  true,"  said  Macchiavelli.  "You  forget  the  danger 
of  the  precedent,  Francesco.  The  next  mad  beggar-n:an  may 
accuse  you  of  stealing  his  verses,  or  me,  tiod  hel|)  me !  of 
stealing  his  coi)pers.  Ah  !"  he  went  on,  turning  towards  the 
door,  "  Dolfo  Spini  has  carried  his  red  feather  out  of  -Jio  Piaz- 
za. That  captain  of  swaggerers  would  like  the  republic  to 
lose  Pisr.  just  for  the  chance  of  seeing  the  people  tear  the 
frock  off  the  Frate's  back.  There  are  few  things  1  should  like 
better  than  toseehini  jilay  the  ]iait  of  Capo  d' Oca,  who  went 
out  to  the  tournament  blowing  his  trumpets  and  returned  with 
them  in  a  bag." 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

n  Y     A     STREET     LAMP, 


That  evening,  when  it  was  dark  and  threatening  rain,  Horn- 
ola,  returniui;,  with  ^Vlaso  and  the  lantei-n  by  her  side,  from 
the  hospital  of  San  Matteo,  which  she  had  visited  after  ves- 
j)ers,  eiu-ountered  her  husband  just  issuing  from  the  monas- 
jtery  of  San  Marco.  Tito,  who  had  gone  out  again  shortly 
after  his  ariival  in  the  Via  tie'  IJardi,  and  had  seen  little  of 
Iloniohi  during  the  day,  immediately  i)roposed  to  accom- 
])any  her  home,  dismissing  Maso,  whose  short  steps  annoyed 
liim.  It  was  only  usual  for  him  to  pay  her  such  an  offi- 
cial attention  Avhen  it  Avas  obviously  demanded  from  him. 
Tito  and  Komola  never  jarred,  never  remonstrated  with  each 
other.     They  were  too  hopelessly  alienated  in  their  inner  lifo 


( 


BOMOLA.  357 

ever  to  have  that  contest  which  is  an  effort  towards  agree- 
ment. They  talked  of  all  aifairs,  public  and  private,  with 
careful  adherence  to  an  adopted  course.  If  Tito  wanted  a 
supper  prepared  in  the  old  library,  now  pleasantly  furnished 
as  a  banqueting-room,  Romola  assented,  and  saw  that  every 
thing  needful  was  done ;  and  Tito,  on  his  side,  lelt  her  en- 
tirely  uncontrolled  in  her  daily  habits,  accepting  the  help  she 
offered  him  in  transcribing  or  making  digests,  and  in  return 
meeting  her  conjectured  want  of  supplies  for  her  charities. 
Yet  he  constantly,  as  on  this  very  morning,  avoided  exchang- 
ing glances  withher  ;  affected  to  believe  that  she  was  out  of 
the  house,  in  order  to  avoid  seeking  her  in  her  own  room  ; 
and  playfully  attributed  to  her  a  perpetual  preference  of  soli- 
tude to  his  society. 

In  the  first  ardor  of  her  self-conquest,  after  she  had  an- 
nounced her  resolution  of  flight,  Romola  had  made  many  timid 
efforts  towards  the  return  of  "a  frank  relation  between 
them.  But  to  her  such  a  relation  could  only  come  by  open 
speech  about  their  differences,  and  the  attempt  to  arrive  at  a 
moral  understanding ;  while  Tito  could  only  be  saved  from 
alienation  from  her  by  such  a  recovery  of  her  effusive  ten- 
derness as  would  have  supposed  oblivion  of  their  differences. 
He  cared  for  no  explanation  between  them  ;  he  felt  any  thor- 
ough explanation  impossible  :  he  would  have  cared  to  have 
Romola  fond  again,  and,  to  her,  fondness  was  impossible.  She 
could  be  submissive  and  gentle,  she  could  repress  any  sign  of 
repulsion  ;  but  tenderness  was  not  to  be  feigned.  She  was 
helplessly  conscious  of  the  result :  her  husband  was  alienated 
from  her.  f^ 

It  was  an  additional  reason  why  she  should  be  carefully 
kept  outside  of  secrets  which  he  would  in  no  case  have  cho- 
sen to  communicate  to  her.  With  regard  to  his  political  ac- 
tion he  sought  to  convince  her  that  he  considered  the  cause 
of  the  Medici  hopeless;  and  that  on  that  practical  ground, 
as  well  as  in  theory,  he  heartily  served  the  popular  govern- 
ment, in  which  she  had  now  a  warm  interest.  But  impreS' 
sions  subtle  as  odors  made  her  uneasy  about  his  relations 
with  San  Marco.  She  was  painfully  divided  betAveen  the 
dread  of  seeing  any  evidence  to  arouse  her  suspicions,  and 
ihe  impulse  to  watch  lest  any  harm  should  come  that  she 
might  have  arrested. 

As  they  walked  together  this  evening,  Tito  said ;  "  The 
business  of  the  day  is  not  yet  quite  ended  for  me.  I  shall 
conduct  you  to  our  door,  my  Romola,  and  then  I  must  fulfill 
another  commission,  which  Avill  take  me  an  hour,  pL^haps,  be- 
fore I  can  return  and  ^'cst,  as  I  very  much  netid  to  do." 


358  ROMOLA. 

Anrl  then  lie  talked  aiiinsiii<fly  of  what  lie  had  scon  at 
Pisa,  until  tlu-y  "wt-iv  close  u])<)ii  a  lugj^ia  near  Avhich  thero 
huiii,'  a  laiiij)  before  a  picture  of  the  Virgin.  The  street  was 
a  quiet  one,  and  hitherto  they  had  passed  few  peoj)Ie  ;  but 
now  there  was  the  sound  of  many  approaching  footsteps  and 
confused  voices. 

"  We  shall  not  get  home  without  a  wetting,  unless  we  take 
sheltei-  undi'r  this  convenient  loggia,"  Tito  said,  hastily,  hur- 
rying Ivoinohi,  with  a  slightly  startled  niovenient,  uj)  tile  step 
of  the  loggia, 

"  Surely  it  is  useless  to  wait  for  this  small  drizzling  rain," 
said  Komola,  in  surprise. 

"  No  ;  I  felt  it  l)ecoming  heavier.  Let  us  wait  a  little." 
With  that  wakefulness  to  the  faintest  indication  which  be- 
longs to  a  mind  habitually  in  a  state  of  caution,  Tito  had  de- 
tected by  theglinuner  of  the  lamp  that  the  leader  of  the  ad- 
vancing groirp  wore  a  red  feather  and  a  glittering  sword-hilt 
— in  fact,  was  almost  the  last  j^crson  in  the  world  he  would 
have  chosen  to  meet  at  this  houi-  M-ith  Komola  by  his  side. 
He  had  already  during  the  day  had  one  momentous' interview 
with  Dolfo  Spini,  and  the  business  he  had  spoken  of  to  Kom- 
ola as  yet  to  be  done  was  a  second  interview  with  that  ixt- 
sonage,  a  sequence  of  the  visit  he  had  ])aid  at  ►'^au  .Marco. 
Tito,  by  a  long  preconcerted  })laii,  had  been  the  bearer  of  let- 
ters to  Savonarola — carefully  forged  letters,  one  of  them,  by  a 
stratagem,  bearing  the  very  signature  and  seal  of  the  Cardi- 
nal of  Naples,  the  Cardinal  who  had  most  exerted  his  intlu- 
ence  at  Kome  in  fjxvor  of  the  Frate.  The  purport  of  the  let- 
ters was  to  state  that  the  Cardinal  was  on  his  jirogress  from 
l^isa,  and,  unwilling  for  strong  reasons  to  enter  Florence,  yet 
desirous  of  taking  counsel  with  Savonarola  at  this  dilhcult 
juncture,  intended  to  }»ause  this  very  day  at  San  Casciano, 
about  ten  miles  from  the  city,  whence  he  would  ride  out  the 
next  morning  in  the  [)lain  garb  of  a  priest,  and  meet  Savona- 
rola, as  if  casually,  five  miles  on  the  Florence  road,  two 
liours  after  sunrise.  The  ]ilot,  of  Mhich  these  forged  letters 
were  the  initial  steji,  was  that  DoUb  Spini  with  a  baml  of  his 
C'ompaf/nacci  was  to  be  posted  in  ambush  on  the  road,  at  a 
l,l;)ni'ly  spot  about  five  miles  from  the  gates  ;  that  he  was  to 
'seize  Savonarola  with  the  Dijminicau  biother  who  Mould  ac- 
company him  according  to  rule,  and  deliver  liim  over  to  » 
small  detachment  of  ^Milanese  horse  in  readiness  near  San 
Casciano,  by  wliom  he  was  to  be  carried  into  the  Koman  ter- 
ritory. 

There  was  a  strong  chance  that  the  jienetrating  Frate 
would  suspect  a  trap,  and  decline  to  incur  the  risk,  which  he 


EOMOLA.  359 

had  for  some  time  avoided,  of  going  beyond  the  city  walls. 
Even  when  he  preached,  his  friends  held  it  necessary  tliat  lie 
should  be  attended  by  an  armed  guard  ;  and  here  he  was 
called  on  to  commit  himself  to  a  solitary  road,Avith  no  oth- 
er attendant  than  a  fellow-monk.  On  this  ground  the  mini- 
mum of  time  had  been  given  him  for  decision,  and  the  chance 
in  favor  of  his  acting  on  the  letters  was,  that  the  eagerness 
with  which  his  mind  was  set  on  the  combining  of  interests 
within  and  without  the  Church  towards  the  procuring  of  a 
General  Council,  and  also  the  expectation  of  immediate  serv- 
ice from  the  Cardinal  in  the  actual  juncture  of  his  contest 
with  the  Pope,  Avould  triumph  over  his  shrewdness  and  cau^ 
tion  in  the  brief  space  allowed  for  deliberation. 

Tito  had  had  an  audience  of  Savonarola,  having  declined 
to  put  the  letters  into  any  hands  but  his,  and  with  consum- 
mate art  had  admitted  that,  incidentally  and  by  inference, 
he  Avas  able  so  far  to  conjecture  their  purport  as  to  believe 
they  referred  to  a  rendez\^ous  outside  the  gates,  in  Avhich 
case  he  urged  that  the  Frate  should  seek  an  armed  guard 
from  the  Signoria,  and  oflered  his  services  in  carrying  the  re- 
quest with  the  utmost  privacy.  Savonarola  had  replied 
briefly  that  this  Avas  impossible :  an  armed  guard  was  incom- 
patible Avith  privacy.  He  spoke  with  a  flashing  eye,  and 
Tito  felt  convinced  that  he  meant  to  incur  the  risk. 

Tito  himself  did  not  much  care  for  the  result.  He  man- 
aged his  aftairs  so  cleverly  that  all  results,  he  considered, 
must  turn  to  his  advantage.  Whichever  party  came  upper- 
most, he  Avas  secure  of  favor  and  money.  That  is  an  indec- 
orously naked  statement ;  the  fact,  clothed  as  Tito  habitu- 
ally clothed  it,  Avas  that  his  acute  mind,  discerning  the  equal 
holloAvness  of  all  parties,  took  the  only  rational  course  in 
making  them  subservient  to  his  OAvn  interest. 

If  Savonarola  fell  into  the  snare,  there  were  diamonds  in 
question  and  papal  patronage ;  if  not,  Tito's  adroit  agency 
had  strengthened  his  position  Avith  Savonarola  and  Avith 
Spini,  while  any  confidences  he  obtained  from  them  made 
him  the  more  valuable  as  an  agent  of  the  Mediceans. 

But  Spini  was  an  inconvenient  colleague.  He  had  cun- 
ning enough  to  delight  in  plots,  but  not  the  ability  or  self- 
command  necessary  to  so  complex  an  eflTect  as  secrecy.  Ke 
frequently  got  excited  Avith  drinking;  for  even  sober  Flor 
ence  had  its  "  Beoni,"  or  topers,  both  lay  and  clerical,  who 
became  loud  at  taverns  and  private  banquets  ;  and  in  spito 
of  the  agreement  between  him  and  Tito,  that  their  public 
recognition  of  each  other  should  invariably  be  of  the  coolest 
sort,  there  was  always  the  possibility  that  on  an  evening;  en< 


3G0  KOMOLA. 

oouiitor  lie  wouUl  be  stidtlonly  blurtinij  ami  affectionate. 
TIk-  ili-lic-aU'  s'l'jfu  of  casting  the  hecc/uttu  over  the  left  slioul- 
(ler  was  understood  in  the  niorninor,  but  tlie  strongest  hint 
short  of  ;i  threat  niiglit  not  suffice  to  keep  olf  a  fraternal  grasp 
of  the  shoulder  in  the  evening. 

Tito's  chief  hope  now  was  that  Dolfo  Spini  liad  not  caught 
sight  of  him,  and  the  hope  would  have  been  well-f»)und- 
ed  if  Spini  had  had  no  clearer  view  of  him  than  he  liad  caught 
of  Spini.  J5ut,  himself  in  shadow,  he  had  seen  Tito  illumi- 
nated for  an  instant  by  the  direct  rays  of  the  lamp,  and  Tito, 
in  his  wav,  was  as  sti'ongly  marked  a  personage  as  the  caj)- 
tain  of  the  Compaf/tiacci.  liomola's  black  shrouded  ligure 
liad  escaped  notice,  and  she  now  stood  behind  lier  luisband's 
shoulder  in  the  corner  of  tlie  loggia.  Tito  was  not  left  to 
hope  long. 

"Ha  !  my  carrier-pigeon  !"  grated  Spini's  liarsh  voice,  in 
what  he  meant  to  be  an  undertone,  while  his  liand  grasped 
Tito's  shoulder;  "what  did  you  run  into  hiding  forV  You 
didn't  know  it  was  comiades  who  were  coming.  It's  well  I 
caught  sight  of  you  ;  it  saves  time.  What  of  the  chase  to- 
morrow morning?  Will  the  bald-headed  game  rise?  Are 
the  falcons  to  be  got  ready?" 

If  it  had  been  in  Tito's  nature  to  feel  an  access  of  rage  he 
"would  have  felt  it  against  this  bull-faced  accomplice,  unfit 
either  for  a  leader  or  a  tool.  His  li]»s  turned  Avhite  ;  but  his 
excitement  came  from  the  pressing  ditliculty  of  ehoosing  a 
safe  device.  If  lie  attempted  to  hush  Spini,  that  would  only 
deepen  Komola's  suspicion,  and  he  knew  her  well  enough  to 
know  that  if  some  strong  alarm  were  roused  in  lier  she  was 
neither  to  be  silenced  nor  hoodwinked;  on  the  other  hand, 
if  he  repelled  Spini  angrily,  the  wine-breathing  conipaf/nac- 
cio  might  become  savage,  being  more  ready  at  resentment 
than  at  the  divination  of  motives.  Hi'  adopted  a  third 
course,  which  j)roved  that  Komola  retained  one  sort  of  pow- 
er over  him — the  jiower  of  dread. 

He  pressed  her  hand,  as  if  intending  a  hint  to  her,  and 
said,  in  a  good-humored  tone  of  comradeship, 

"  Yes,  my  Dolfo,  you  may  prejiare  in  all  security.  But 
take  Jio  trumjiets  with  you." 

"  Don't  be  afraid,"  said  Si)ini,  a  little  piqued.  "Xo  need 
to  play  SerSaccente  with  me.  I  know  wliere  the  devil  keeps 
his  tail  as  well  as  you  do.  What  !  he  swallowed  the  bait 
whole?  The  prophetic  nose  didn't  scent  the  hook  at  all?" 
lie  Avent  on,  lowering  liis  tone  a  little,  witli  a  blundering 
Bense  of  secrecy. 

"The  l)rute"will   not  be  satisfied  till  lie  lias  emptied  the 


RO:^OLA.  361 

Oag,"  thought  Tito;  but  aloud  he  said,  "Swallowed  all  as 
easily  ;is  you  swallow  a  cup  of  Trebbiano.  Ha  !  I  see  torches  ; 
tiic-i  e  must  be  a  dead  body  coming.  The  pestilence  has  been 
spreading,  I  hear." 

"  SuiFocation  !  I  hate  the  sight  of  those  biers.  Good-night," 
said  Spini,  hastily  moving  off 

The  torches  were  really  coming,  but  tlioy  preceded  a 
church  dignitary,  who  was  returning  homeward ;  the  sug- 
gestion of  the  dead  body  and  the  pestilence  was  Tito's  de- 
vice for  getting  rid  of  Spini  without  telling  him  to  go.  Tiie 
moment  he  had  moved  away  Tito  turned  to  Komola,  and 
said  quietly, 

"Do  not  be  alarmed  by  any  thing  that  hestia  has  said, 
my  Romola,  We  Avill  go  on  now  ;  I  think  the  rain  has  not 
increased." 

She  was  quivering  with  indignant  resolution  :  it  was  of 
no  use  for  Tito  to  speak  in  that  unconcerned  way.  She 
distrusted  every  word  he  could  utter. 

"  I  will  not  go  on,"  she  said.  "  I  will  not  ftiove  nearer 
home  until  I  have  some  security  against  this  treachery  being 
perpetrated." 

"  Wait,  at  least,  until  these  torches  have  passed,"  said 
Tito,  with  perfect  self-command,  but  with  a  new  rising  of  dis- 
like to  a  wife  who  this  time,  he  foresaw,  miglit  have  the 
power  of  thwarting  him  in  spite  of  the  husband's  predomi- 
nance. 

Tlie  torches  passed,  with  the  Vicario  delP  Arcivescovo. 
and  due  reverence  was  done  by  Tito,  but  Romola  saw  noth- 
ing outward.  If  for  tlie  defeat  of  this  treachery,  in  Mhich 
she  believed  wuth  all  the  force  of  long  present inient,  it  had 
been  necessary  at  that  moment  lor  her  to  spring  on  her  hus- 
band and  hurl  h.erself  with  him  down  a  precipice,  she  felt  as 
if  she  could  have  done  it.  Union  with  this  man  !  At  that 
moment  the  self-quellin£,  discipline  of  two  yeai-s  seemed  to  bo 
nullified :  she  felt  nothing  but  that  they  were  divided. 

They  were  nearly  in  darkness  again,  and  could  only  see 
each  other's  faces  dimly. 

"Tell  me  the  truth,  Tito— this  time  tell  me  the  truth," 
said  Romola,  in  a  low,  quivering  voice.  "  It  will  be  safer 
for  you." 

"  ^^"hy  should  I  desire  to  tell  you  any  thing  else,  my  an- 
gry saint  ?"  said  Tito,  with  a  slight  touch  of  contempt, 
which  was  the  vent  of  his  annoyance,  "  since  the  truth  is 
precisely  that  over  which  you  have  most  reason  to  rejoice — 
natrcly,  tliat  my  knowing  a  plot  of  Spini's  enables  me  to  so- 
ewre  tne  Frate  from  falling  a  victim  to  it." 


302  UOMOLA. 

"Wliat  is  tl.cplot?" 

"That  I  (k'C'liiie  to  tfll,"  said  Tito.  "It  U  cnoii!j:h  that 
tlu'  Flute's  sulety  will  be  secured." 

"  It  is  a  plot  lor  drawing  him  outside  the  gates  that  Spini 
may  inurder  liiin." 

''Tliere  lias  l>i'en  no  intention  of  murder.  It  is  simply  a 
plot  for  compelling  liim  to  obey  the  Pope's  summons  to 
Jiomo.  IJut  as  I  serve  the  ])0})ular  government,  ami  think 
the  Frate's  presence  here  is  a  necessary  means  of  maintaining 
it  at  present,  I  choose  to  j>revent  his  dei»arture.  You  may 
go  to  sleep  with  entire  case  of  mind  to-night." 

For  a  moment  TJomola  was  silent.  Then  she  said,  in  a 
voice  of  anguish, "  Tito,  it  is  of  no  use:  1  have  no  belief  iu 
you." 

She  could  just  disconi  his  action,  as  he  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders and  spread  out  his  palms  in  silence.  That  cold  dislike 
Avhich  is  the  aniier  of  unimpassioneil  beings  was  hardening 
within  him. 

"If  the  Fratc  leaves  the  city — if  any  harm  hap]xns  to 
liim,"  saitl  Koinola,  after  a  slight  ]iause,  in  a  new  tone  of  in- 
dignant resolution,  "I  will  declai-e  what  I  have  heard  to  the 
Signoria,  and  you  will  be  disgraced.  What  if  I  am  your 
wifeV"  she  went  on,  impetuously  ;  '*  I  will  be  disgraced  with 
you.  If  we  are  united,  I  am  that  part  of  you  that  will  save 
you  from  crime.     Others  shall  not  l>e  betrayed." 

"I  am  (juite  aware  of  Avhat  you  would  be  likely  to  do, 
anhtvi  in'ta^''  said  Tito,  in  the  coolest  of  his  li(|uid  tttnes; 
"  therefore,  if  you  have  a  small  amount  of  reasoning  at  your 
disj)osal  just  now,  consider  that  if  you  believe  me  in  nothing 
else,  you  may  believe  me  when  I  say  I  will  take  care  of  my- 
self, ami  not  put  it  in  your  power  to  ruin  me." 

"Then  you  assure  me  that  the  Frate  is  warned — lie  will 
not  go  beyond  the  gates?" 

"lie  shall  not  <fo  bevond  the  [rates." 

There  was  a  moment's  })ause ;  but  distrust  was  not  to  be 
ex|)elled. 

"  I  will  go  back  to  San  Marco  now  and  find  out,'  liomola 
said,  making  a  movement  forward. 

"  Vnu  shall  not !"  said  Tito,  in  a  bitter  whisper,  seizing  her 
Avrists  with  all  his  masculine  force.  "I  am  master  of  you. 
You  shall  Mot  set  yourself  in  (tpposition  to  me." 

niere  were  passers-by  approaching.  Tito  had  heard 
them,  and  that  was -why  he  spoke  in  a  M'hispcr.  IJomola 
was  too  conscious  of  being  mastered  to  have  strugiiled,  even 
if  she  had  remained  unconscious  that  witnesses  were  at  haiut. 
But  she  was  aware  now  of  footstejis  and  voices,  and  her  h* 


EOMOLA.  363 

bitual  serssc  of  personal  dignity  made  her  at  once  yield  to 
Tito's  movement  towards  leading  her  from  the  loggia. 

They  walked  on  in  silence  for  some  time  under  the  small 
drizzling  rain.  The  first  rush  of  indignation  and  alarm  in 
Romola  had  begun  to  give  way  to  more  com])licated  feelings, 
which  rendered  speech  and  action  difficult.  In  that  simpler 
state  of  vehemence,  open  opposition  to  the  husband  fi-om 
whom  she  felt  her  soul  revolting,  had  had  the  aspect  of  q, 
temptation  for  her  ;  it  seemed  the  easiest  of  all  courses.  But 
now  habits  of  selt-questioning,  memories  of  impulse  subdued, 
and  that  proud  reserve  which  all  discipline  had  left  unmodi- 
fied, began  to  emerge  from  the  flood  of  ])assion.  The  grasp 
of  her  wrists,  which  asserted  her  husband's  physical  predomi- 
nance, instead  of  arousing  a  new  fierceness  in  her,  as  it  might 
have  done  if  her  impetuosity  had  been  of  a  more  vulgar 
kind,  had  given  her  a  momentarv  shuddering  horror  at  this 
form  of  contest  with  him.  It  was  the  first  time  they  had 
been  in  declared  hostility  to  each  other  since  her  flight  and 
return,  and  the  check  given  to  her  ardent  resolution  tnen  re- 
tained the  power  to  arrest  her  now.  In  this  altered  condi- 
tion her  mind  began  to  dwell  on  the  probabilities  thai  would 
saAC  her  from  any  desperate  course :  Tito  would  not  risk  be- 
trayal 1)y  her;  whatever  had  been  his  original  intention,  lie 
must  be  determined  now  by  the  fact  that  she  knew  of  the 
plot.  She  was  not  bound  now  to  do  any  thing  else  llian  to 
hauir  over  him  that  certainty  that  if  he  deceived  her,  her  lips 
would  not  be  closed.  And  then,  it  Avas  possible — yes,  slse 
must  cling  to  that  possibility  till  it  was  disproved — that 
Tito  had  never  meant  to  aid  in  the  betrayal  of  the  Frate. 

Tito,  on  his  side,  was  busy  with  thoughts,  and  did  not 
speak  again  till  they  Avere  near  home.     Then  he  said — 

"  Well,  Romola,  have  you  now  had  time  to  recover  calm- 
ness ?  If  so,  you  can  supply  your  want  of  belief  in  me  by  a 
little  rational  inference:  you  can  see,  I  presume,  that  if  I  had 
had  any  intention  of  furthering  Spini's  plot  I  should  now  be 
aware  that  the  possession  of  a  fair  Piagnone  for  my  wife,  who 
knows  the  secret  of  the  plot,  would  be  a  serious  obstacle  in 
my  way." 

Tito  assumed  the  tone  Avhich  was  just  then  the  easiest  to 
him,  conjecturing  that  in  Romola's  present  mood  j^ersuasive 
deprecation  Avould  be  lost  upon  her. 

"Yes,  Tito,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "I  think  you  be- 
lieve that  I  would  guard  the  Republic  from  further  treachery. 
You  are  right  to  believe  it ;  if  the  Frate  is  betrayed,  I  Avill 
denounce  you."  She  paused  a  moment,  and  then  said  witli 
an  efibrt,  "But  it  was  not  so.     I  have  perhaps  spoken  toa 


304  UO.^IOhA. 

liastily — you  never  meant  it.     Only,  why  will   you  seem  to 
be  that  man's  eoinraile  V" 

"Such  relations  are  inevitable  to  practieal  men,my  IJonio- 
la,"'  said  Tito,  tfratificd  by  (lisceinini;  the  striiiiirle  within  her. 
"  Vou  lair  ereatures  Ii\  i-  in  the  eloucls.  Pray  tro  to  rest  witix 
an  easy  heart,"  he  added,  opening  the  door  lor  her. 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

CHECK. 


Tito's  elever  arranujemetits  had  been  unpleasantly  frnstrn- 
ted  by  trivial  ineidents  whieh  could  not  enter  into  a  elever 
man's  calculations.  It  was  very  seldom  that  he  walked  with 
Komola  in  the  evening,  yet  he  liad  ha]iiiened  tfi.be  M'alking 
with  her  jtreeisely  on  this  evening  when  her  ])resence  was  su- 
l)remely  inconvenient.  Lite  was  so  coni])licated  a  game  that 
the  devices  of  skill  weie  liable  to  be  defeated  at  every  turn  by 
air-blown  chances,  incalculable  as  the  descent  of  thistle-(b)wn. 

It  v.as  not  that  he  minded  about  the  failure  of  Spini's 
plot,  but  lie  felt  an  awkward  difficulty  in  so  adjusting  his 
warning  to  Savonarola  on  the  one  hand,  and  to  Sj)ini  on  the 
other,  as  not  to  incur  suspicion.  Suspicion  roused  in  the 
pojuilar  party  might  be  fatal  to  his  rej)Utatioii  and  ostensi- 
ble position  in  Florence  :  suspicion  roused  in  Dolfo  Spini 
might  l>e  as  disagreeable  in  its  effects  as  the  hatred  of  a  fierce 
dog  not  to  be  chained. 

If  Tito  went  forthwith  to  the  monastery  to  warn  Savo- 
narola l)efore  the  monks  went  to  rest,  his  warning  would  fol- 
low so  closely  on  his  delivery  of  the  forged  letters  that  he 
could  not  esca)»e  unfavorabk'  surmises,  lie  could  not  warn 
Spini  at  <>nce  without  telling  him  the  true  reason,  since  he 
could  not  immediately  alli'ge  the  discovery  that  Savonarola, 
had  changed  his  purpose;  and  he  knew  Sj)iMi  well  enough  to 
know  that  his  understanding  would  discern  nothing  but  that 
Tito  had  "turned  round"  and  frustrated  the  ]tlot.  On  the 
other  hand,  by  deferring  his  warning  to  Savonarola  until  the 
early  iiioniing,  lie  woidd  \h'  almost  sure  to  lose  the  opportu- 
nity of  warning  Spini  that  the  Frate  had  changed  his  mind  ; 
and  thf  band  of  ('oiiijxniitdrfi  would  come  back  in  all  the 
rage  of  disapj»ointnient.  This  last,  however,  was  the  risk  he 
chose,  trusting  to  his  jiower  of  soothing  Spini  by  assuring 
him  that  the  failure  was  due  only  to  the  Frate's  caution. 

Tito  was  aminvi'd.     If  he  had  had  U)  smile  it  would  have 


ROMOLA.  365 

been  an  unusual  cftbrt  to  liini.  He  Avas  detorminccl  not  to  en- 
counter Roniola  again,  and  he  did  not  go  home  that  night. 

She  -watched  througli  the  night,  and  never  took  otf  her 
clothes.  She  heard  the  rain  become  heavier  and  heavier. 
She  liked  to  hear  the  rain  ;  the  stormy  heavens  seemed  a  safe- 
guard against  men's  devices,  compelling  them  to  inaction. 
And  Romola's  mind  was  again  assailed,  not  only  by  the  ut- 
most doubt  of  her  husband,  but  by  doubt  as  to  her  own  con- 
duct. What  lie  might  he  not  have  told  her  ?  What  proj- 
ect might  he  not  have,  of  which  she  was  still  ignorant  ? 
Every  one  who  trusted  Tito  was  in  danger  ;  it  Avas  useless  to 
try  and  persuade  herself  of  the  contrary.  And  was  not  she 
selfishly  listening  to  the  promptings  of  her  own  pride  Avhen 
she  shrank  from  warning  men  against  liim?  "  If  her  husband 
was  a  malefactor,  her  place  was  in  the  prison  by  his  side" — 
that  might  be  ;  she  Avas  contented  to  fulfill  that  claim.  But 
was  she,  a  Avife,  to  alloAV  a  husband  to  inflict  the  injuries  that 
Avould  make  him  a  malefactor  Avhen  it  might  be  in  her  powd- 
er to  prevent  them  V  Prayer  seemed  imjjossible  to  her. 
The  activity  of  her  thought  excluded  a  mental  state  of  Avhich 
the  essence  is  expectant  passivity. 

The  excitement  became  stronger  and  stronger.  Her  im- 
agination, in  a  state  of  morbid  activity,  conjured  up  possible 
schemes  by  which,  after  all,  Tito  Avould  haA'e  eluded  her 
threat ;  and  towards  daybreak  the  rain  became  less  violent, 
till  at  last  it  ceased,  the  breeze  rose  again  and  dispersed  the 
clouds,  and  the  morning  fell  clear  on  all  the  objects  around 
her.  It  made  her  uneasiness  all  the  less  endurable.  Sho 
wrapped  her  mantle  round  her,  and  ran  up  to  the  loggia,  as  if 
there  could  be  any  thing  in  the  Avide  landscape  that  might 
determine  her  action  ;  as  if  there  could  be  any  thing  but 
roofs  hiding  the  line  of  street  along  Avhich  Savonarola  might 
be  walking  toAvards  betrayal. 

If  she  Avent  to  her  godfather,  might  she  not  induce  him, 
without  any  specific  revelation,  to  take  measures  for  pi'cvent- 
ing  Fra  Girolamo  from  passing  the  gates  ?  But  that  might 
be  too  late  ;  Romola  thought,  with  new  distress,  that  she  had 
fiiiled  to  learn  any  guiding  details  from  Tito,  and  it  Avas  al- 
ready long  past  seven.  She  must  go  to  San  M&rco :  there 
was  nothing  else  to  be  done. 

Slie  hurried  down  the  stairs,  she  went  out  into  the  street 
without  looking  at  her  sick  people,  and  Avalked  at  a  SAvift 
pace  along  the  Via  de'  Bardi  towards  the  Ponte  Vecchio. 
She  would  go  through  the  heart  of  the  citv  :  it  Avasthe  most 
direct  road,  and  besides,  in  the  great  Piazza  there  was  a  chance 
of  encounte'"ing  her  husband,  Avho,  by  some  possibility  to 


3GG  nOMOI.A. 

wliicli  she  still  cluni;,  niiijlit  satisfy  licr  of  tlic  Fratc's  safi'ty, 
aii<l  Icavo  no  ikhmI  for  lior  to  ljo  to  San  ^Maico.  When  she  ar- 
rived in  front  of  tlie  Pahizzo  W'ccliio  she  luulved  eai^erly  into 
the  piUared  court;  then  her  eyes  swept  the  Piazza;  hut 
the  well-known  future,  once  painted  in  her  heart  by  young 
love,  and  now  branded  there  by  eating  jiain,  was  nowhere 
to  be  seen.  She  hurried  straight  on  to  tlie  Piazza  del  Duo- 
mo.  It  was  already  full  of  movement :  there  were  worship- 
^jers  passing  up  and  down  the  marble  sti'ps,  tlu-re  were  men 

1)ausing  foi  chat,  and  there  wei'e  market-iteople  carrying  their 
)urdens.  Between  these  moving  figures  Ivomola  caught  a 
glimpse  of  her  husband.  On  his  way  from  San  ^larco  he  had 
turned  into  Nello's  shop,  and  was  now  leaning  against  the 
dooi'-post.  As  Komola  ap'proachcd  she  could  see  tliat  he  was 
standing  and  talking,  with  the  easiest  air  in  the  world,  hold- 
ing his  cap  in  his  hand,  and  shaking  back  his  freshly-coiubecl 
hair.  The  contrast  of  this  ease  with  tiie  l/itter  anxieties  he 
had  created  convulsed  her  with  indignation  :  the  new  vision 
of  his  hardness  heightened  her  dread.  She  recognized  Cro- 
naca  and  two  other  frequenters  of  San  ]\[arco  standing  near 
lier  husband.  It  ilashed  through  her  mind — "I  will  compel 
him  to  speak  before  those  men."  And  her  light  step  brought 
her  close  upon  him  before  lie  had  time  to  move,  while  Crona- 
ca  was  saying,  "'llere  comes  ^ladonna  Pomola."' 

A  slight  shock  passed  through  Tito's  frame  as  he  felt  him- 
self face  to  f;\ce  Avith  his  Avife.  She  Avas  haggard  Avith  her 
anxious  Avatching,  but  there  Avas  a  flash  of  something  else 
than  anxiety  in  her  eyes  as  she  said, 

"  Is  the  Frate  gone  beyond  the  gates?" 

"No,"  said  Tito,  feeling  completely  hel|)less  before  this 
woman,  and  needing  all  the  self-eomniand  he  jiossessed  to 
preserve  a  countenance  in  which  there  should  seem  to  be 
nothing  stronger  than  sur])rise. 

"  i\nd  you  are  certain  that  he  is  not  going  ?"  she  insisted. 

"  I  am  certain  that  he  is  not  going." 

"  That  is  enough,"  said  Pomola ;  and  she  turned  up  the 
steps,  to  take  refuge  in  the  Duomo  till  she  could  recover  from 
her  agitation. 

Tito  never  had  a  feeling  so  near  liatred  as  that  with  which 
his  eyi'S  followed  Komola  retivating  up  the  steps. 

There  were  present  not  only  genuine  followers  of  the  Frate, 
but  Ser  Ceccoiu',  the  notary,  Avho  at  that  time,  like  Tito  him- 
self, was  secretly  an  agent  of  the  I^Iediccans.  Ser  I'^rancesco 
di  Ser  IJarone,  more  briefly  known  to  infamy  as  Ser  (V-cconc, 
Avas  not  learned,  not  handsonu',  not  successful,  and  the  re- 
verse of  generous.  He  Avas  a  traitor  without  charm.  It  fol- 
lowed that  he  Avas  not  fond  of  Tito  ^leler.ia. 


KOMOLA.  367 


CH.\PTER  XLVm. 

COUNTER-CHECK, 

tr  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  Tito  returned  home. 
Romola,  seated  opposite  the  cabinet  in  lier  narrow  room, 
copying  documents,  was  about  to  desist  from  her  work  be- 
cause tlie  light  was  getting  dim,  when  her  husband  entered. 
He  had  come  sti-aigl)t  to  this  room  to  seek  lier,  with  a  thor- 
ouglily-dcfined  intention,  and  there  was  something  new  to 
Romohi  in  his  manner  and  expression  as  he  looked  at  her  si- 
lently on  entering,  and,  without  taking  off  his  cap  and  man- 
tle, leaned  one  elbow  on  the  cabinet,  and  stood  directly  in 
front  of  her. 

Romola,  fully  assured  during  the  day  of  the  Frate's  safe- 
ty, Avas  feeling  the  i-eaction  of  some  jienitence  for  the  access 
of  distrust  and  indignation  which  had  impelled  her  to  address 
her  husband  publicly  on  a  matter  that  she  knew  he  wished 
to  be  private.  She  told  herself  that  she  liad  probably  been 
wrong.  The  scheming  duplicity  which  she  had  heard  even 
her  godfather  allude  to  as  inseparable  from  party  tactics 
might  be  sufficient  to  account  for  the  connection  with  Spini, 
Avithout  the  supposition  that  Tito  luid  ever  meant  to  further 
the  plot.  She  wanted  to  atone  for  her  impetuosity  by  con- 
fessing that  she  had  been  too  hasty,  and  for  some  houre  her 
mind  had  been  dwelling  on  the  possibility  that  this  confes- 
sion of  hei-s  might  lead  to  other  finnk  words  breaking  the 
two  years'  silence  of  their  hearts.  The  silence  had  been  so 
complete  that  Tito  was  ignorant  of  her  having. fled  from  him 
and  come  back  again  ;  they  had  never  approached  an  avowal 
of  that  past  which,  both  in  its  young  love  and  in  the  shock 
that  shattered  the  love,  lay  locked  away  from  them  like  a 
banquet-room  where  death  had  once  broken  the  feast. 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  that  submission  in  her  glance 
which  belonged  to  her  state  of  self-reproof;  but  the  subtle 
change  in  his  fiice  and  manner  arrested  her  speech.  For  a 
few  moments  they  remained  silent,  looking  at  each  other. 

Tito  himself  felt  that  a  crisis  was  come  in  his  married  life. 
The  husband's  determination  to  mastery,  which  lay  deep  be- 
low all  blandness  and  beseechingness,  liad  risen  permanently 
to  the  surface  nov,-,  and  seemed  to  alter  his  face,  as  a  face  is 
altered  by  a  hidden  muscular  tension  with  which  a  man  is 


3G8  KOMOLA. 

si'civtly  llii-i>(tliii<^  or  s(;inii>iiiir  out  tin-  lift'  from  Romcthing 
Ic'cblc,  yrt  <l:ini:;c'i()Us. 

"  Koinola,"  lie  betraii,  in  the  cool,  li<jui(l  tone  that  made 
liiT  shiver,  "  it  is  time  that  we  should  mulerstand  each  other." 
Ill'  paused. 

"That  is  wliat  I  most  desire, Tito,'%lK;  said,  faintly.  Ilcr 
sweet  pale  face,  with  all  its  anger  gone,  and  notiiing  Imt  tho 
timidity  of  seH-(h>ul>t  in  it,  seemed  togivea  marked  predoiu- 
iiiauee  to  her  husbaiurs  dark  strength. 

"You  took  a  step  this  morning,"  Tito  went  on,  "  whicli 
you  must  now  yourself  jierceive  to  have  been  useless — whicli 
exposed  you  to  remark,  and  may  involve  me  in  serious  prac- 
tical dilTu-ulties.'" 

"  I  acknowledge  that  I  was  too  liasty ;  I  am  sorry  for  any 
injustice  I  may  have  done  you."  IJoinola  spoke  these  words 
in  a  fuller  and  lirmer  tone;  Tito,  she  hoped,  would  look  less 
liard  wlien  she  had  e.vpressed  her  regret,  and  then  she  could 
say  other  things. 

"I  wish  you  once  for  all  to  understuid,"  he  said,  without 
any  change  of  voice,  "  that  such  collisions  arc  incom])atible 
with  our  position  as  husband  and  wife,  I  wisli  you  to  reflect 
on  the  mode  in  which  vou  were  led  to  take  that  step,  that 
the  ])roeess  may  not  be  repeated." 

"That  depends  chiefly  on  you,  Tito,"  said  Komola,  taking 
fire  slightly.  It  was  not  what  she  ha<l  at  all  tliought  of 
saying,  but  we  see  a  very  little  way  before  us  in  mutual 
speech. 

"  You  Avould  say,  I  suppose,"  answered  Tito, "  that  nothing 
is  to  occur  in  future  which  can  excite  your  unreasonable  sus- 
picions, ^'ou  were  iiank  enough  to  say  last  night  that  you 
have  no  belief  in  me.  I  am  not  surprised  at  any  exaggerated 
conclusion  you  may  draw  from  slight  ])rcmises,  l)ut  I  wisli  to 
j)oint  out  to  you  what  is  likely  to  be  tlu- fruit  of  your  making 
such  exaggerated  conclusions  a  ground  for  interfering  in  at- 
lairs  of  which  you  are  ignorant.  Your  attention  is  thoroughly 
awake  to  what  I  am  saying  V" 

He  jKiused  for  a  r(,'}>ly. 

"  Yes,"  said  Komola,  flushing  in  irrepressible  resentment  at 
tjis  cold  tone  of  sujteriority. 

"^Vell,  then,  it  may  possibly  not  be  very  long  before  some 
other  chance  words  or  incidents  set  your  imagination  at  work 
devising  crimes  for  me,  and  you  may  perhaps  rush  to  the  Pa- 
lazzo \'ecchio  to  alarm  the  Signoria  and  set  the  city  in  an  U|)- 
roar.  Shall  I  tell  you  what  may  bi'  the  result?  Not  sim})ly 
the  disgrace  of  your  husband,  to  which  you  look  forward  with 
so  much  courage,  but  the  arrest  and  ruin  of  many  amon^ 


ROMOLA.  369 

the  chief  men  in  Florence,  including  Messer  Bernardo  del 
Nero. 

Tito  had  meditated  a  decisive  move,  and  he  had  made  it. 
The  flush  died  out  of  Romola's  face,  and  her  very  lips  were 
pale — an  unusual  efi:ect  with  her,  for  she  v\"as  little  subject  to 
tear.     Tito  perceived  his  success. 

"  You  would  perhaps  flatter  yourself,"  he  went  on,  "  that 
you  were  performing  a  heroic  deed  of  deliverance ;  you  might 
as  well  try  to  turncocks  with  fine  words  as  apply  such  no- 
tions to  the  politics  of  Florence.  The  question  now  is,  not 
whether  you  can  have  any  belief  in  me,  but  whether,  now  you 
have  been  warned,  you  will  dare  to  rush,  like  a  blind  man 
with  a  torch  in  his  hand,  among  intricate  aftairs  of  Avhich 
you  know  nothing." 

tiomola  felt  as  if  her  mind  were  held  in  a  vice  by  Tito's  ; 
the  possibilities  he  had  indicated  Avere  rising  before  her  Avith 
terrible  clearness. 

"  I  am  too  rash,"  she  said.     "  I  will  try  not  to  be  rash." 

"Remember,"  said  Tito,  with  unsparing  insistence,  "  that 
your  act  of  distrust  toAvards  me  this  morning  might,  for  aught 
you  knew,  have  had  more  fatal  effects  than  that  sacrifice  of 
your  husband  Avhich  you  have  learned  to  contemjilate  Avith- 
out  flinching." 

"  Tito,  it  is  not  so,"  Romola  burst  forth,  in  a  pleading  tone, 
rising  and  going  nearer  to  him,  Avith  a  desperate  resolution 
to  speak  out.  "  It  is  false  that  I  Avould  Avillingly  sacrifice 
you.  It  has  been  the  greatest  effort  of  my  life  to  cling  to 
you.  I  went  aAvay  in  my  anger  tAvo  years  ago,  and  I  came 
back  again  because  I  Avas  more  bound  to  you  than  to  any 
thing  else  on  earth.  But  it  is  useless.  You  shut  me  out 
from  your  mind.  You  affect  to  think  of  me  as  a  being  too 
unreasonable  to  share  in  the  knowledge  of  your  atifairs.  You 
Avill  be  open  Avith  me  about  nothing." 

She  looked  like  his  good  angel  pleading  with  him,  as  she 
bent  her  face  tOAvards  him  Avith  dilated  eyes,  and  laid  her 
liand  upon  his  arm.  But  Romola's  touch  and  glance  no  long- 
er stirred  any  fibre  of  tenderness  in  her  husband.  The  good' 
humored,  tolerant  Tito,  incapable  of  hatred,  incapable  almost 
Di'  impatience,  disposed  always  to  be  gentle  toAvards  the  rest 
31  the  world,  felt  himself  becoming  strangely  hard  towards 
this  Avife  Avhose  presence  had  once  been  the  strongest  influ< 
ence  he  had  knoAAm.  With  all  his  softness  of  disposition  he 
had  a  masculine  effectiveness  of  intellect  and  purpose  Avhich, 
like  sharpness  of  edge,  is  itself  an  energy,  Avorking  its  Avay 
Avithout  any  strong  momentum.  Romola  had  an  energy  of 
her  own  which  tliAvarted  his,  and  no  man,  Avho  i&  not  excep 

IG* 


3  To  ROMOLA. 

ti<>naT>ly  fi'd^lo,  Mill  endure  beiiii;  thwarted  liy  lus  wife.  IMar- 
riuLTO  iiiiist  be  a  relation  eitliiT  of  sympathy  or  of  euiKjuest. 

No  emotion  (hirted  aero.ss  his  faee  as  he  heard  liomola  for 
tlie  first  time  speak  of  liaviiiij^  gone  away  from  him.  His  lips 
only  looked  a  little  harder  as  lie  smiled  slightly  and  said — 

"]My  Ilomola,  when  certain  conditions  are  ascertained  we 
must  make  up  our  minds  to  them.  No  amount  of  wishing 
will  fill  the  Arno,  as  your  people  say, or  turn  a  jiliim  into  an 
orange.  I  have  not  observed  even  that  ])rayers  have  much 
efficacy  that  Avay.  You  are  so  constituted  as  to  have  certain 
strong  impressions  inaccessible  to  reason  :  I  can  not  share 
those  impressions,  and  you  have  M'ithdrawn  all  trust  from  me 
in  conse(]uence.  You  have  changed  towards  me  ;  it  has  fol- 
lowed that  1  have  changi'd  towards  you.  It  is  useless  to  t^ake 
any  retros))cct.  AVe  Ixive  simply  to  ada])t  t)urselvcs  to  alter- 
ed conditions." 

"Tito,  it  would  not  be  useless  for  us  to  sjieak  openly," 
said  Komola,  flusliing  with  the  sort  of  exasperation  that  comes 
from  using  living  muscle  against  some  lifeless  insurmounta- 
ble resistance.  "'It  was  the  sense  of  deception  in  you  that 
changed  me,  and  that  has  kej)t  us  apart.  .And  it  is  not  trua 
that  I  changed  first.  You  changed  towards  me  tlie  night  you 
first  wore  tliat  chain  armor.  You  liad  some  secret  from  me 
— it  was  about  that  old  man — and  I  saw  him  again  yesterday. 
Tito,"  she  went  on,  in  a  tone  of  agonized  entreaty, "if  you 
would  once  tell  me  every  thing,  let  it  be  Avhat  it  may — I 
would  not  mind  ))ain — that  there  might  be  no  wall  between 
us  !     Is  it  not  jxjssible  that  we  could  begin  a  new  life  V" 

This  time  there  was  a  flash  of  emotion  across  Tito's  face, 
rie  stofxl  ))erfectly  still  ;  but  the  flash  seemed  to  have  whiten- 
ed him.  He  took  no  notice  of  llomola's  api)eal,  but,  after  a 
moment's  pause, said  (piietly, 

"  Your  impetuosity  about  trifles,  Ivomola,  has  a  freezing 
influence  that  would  cool  the  baths  of  Kero."  At  these  cut^ 
ting  words  IJomola  shiank  and  drew  herself  up  into  her  usu- 
al self-sustained  attitude.  Tito  went  on:  "  If  by  that  old 
man  you  mean  the  mad  lacopo  di  Nola  who  atti'm])ti'd  my 
life  and  made  a  strange  accusation  against  me,  of  which  I  told 
yon  nothing  because  it  Avould  have  alarmed  you  to  no  pur- 
pose, he,  p.oor  wretch,  has  died  in  jirison.  I  saw  his  name  in 
the  list  ot  dead." 

"  I  know  nothing  about  his  accusation,"  said  Komola. 
"  But  I  know  he  is  the  man  whom  I  saw  with  the  ro]>e  round 
his  neck  in  the  Duomo — the  man  whose  jiortrait  Piero  di 
Cosimo  painted,  grasj)ing  your  arm  as  he  saw  him  grasp  it  the 
day  the  French  entered — the  day  you  first  wore  the  armor." 


ROM  OLA.  371 

'•  And  where  is  he  now,  pray  ?"  said  Tito,  still  pale,  but 
governing  liimself. 

"  He  was  lying  lifeless  in  the  street  from  starvation,"  said 
Romola.  "  I  revived  him  with  bread  and  wine,  I  brought 
him  to  our  dooi-,  but  he  refused  to  come  in.  Then  I  gave  him 
some  money,  and  he  went  away  without  telling  me  anything. 
But  he  had  found  out  that  I  was  your  wife.      Who  is  he  ?" 

"  A  man  half  mad,  half  imbecile,  who  was  once  my  father's 
servant  in  Greece,  and  who  has  a  rancorous  hatred  towards 
me  because  I  got  him  dismissed  for  theft.  Now  you  have 
the  whole  mystery,  and  the  further  satisfaction  of  knowing 
that  I  am  again  in  danger  of  assassination.  The  fact  of  my 
wearing  the  armor,  about  Avhich  you  seem  to  have  thought 
so  much,  must  have  led  you  to  infer  that  I  was  in  danger 
from  this  man.  Was  that  the  reason  you  chose  to  cultivate 
his  acquaintance  and  hivite  him  into  the  house?" 

llomola  was  mute.  To  speak  was  only  like  rushing  with 
bare  breast  against  a  shield. 

Tito  moved  from  his  leaning  posture,  slowly  took  off  his 
cap  and  mantle,  and  pushed  back  his  hair.  lie  was  collect- 
ing himself  for  some  linal  words.  And  Romola  stood  upright 
looking  at  Kun  as  she  might  have  looked  at  some  on-coming- 
deadly  force,  to  be  met  only  by  silent  endurance. 

"  We  need  not  refer  to  these  matters  again,  Romola,"  he 
said,  precisely  in  the  same  tone  as  that  in  which  he  had 
spoken  at  first,  "  It  is  enough  if  you  will  remember  that  the 
next  time  your  generous  ardor  leads  you  to  interfere  in  po- 
litical afiairs  you  are  likely,  not  to  save  any  one  from  danger, 
but  to  be  raising  scaffolds  and  setting  houses  on  fire.  You 
are  not  yet  a  sufficiently  ardent  Piagnone  to  believe  that 
Messer  Bernardo  del  Nero  is  the  Prince  of  Darkness,  and 
Messer  Francesco  Valori  the  archangel  Michael,  I  think  I 
need  demand  no  promise  from  you  ?" 

"I  have  understood  you  too  well,  Tito," 

"  It  is  enough,"  he  said,  leaving  the  room, 

Romola  turned  round  Avith  despair  in  her  face  and  sank 
into  her  seat,  "O  God,  I  have  tried — I  can  not  help  it.  We 
shall  always  be  divided."  Those  words  passed  silently 
through  her  mind.  "  Unless,"  she  said  aloud,  as  if"  some  sud- 
:]en  vision  had  startled  her  into  speech — "  unless  misery  should 
come  and  join  us  !" 

Tito,  too,  had  a  nev/  thought  in  his  mind  after  he  had 
closed  the  door  behind  him.  With  the  project  of  leaving 
Florence  as  soon  as  his  life  there  had  become  a  high  enough 
stepping-stone  to  a  life  elsewhere,  perhaps  at  Rome  or  Milan, 
there  was  now  for  the  first  time  associated  a  desire  to  be  freo 


.•372  KoMor./i. 

Cntiii  I\<)iiu»l:i,  ;iiul  to  Icivo  lur  bthiiid  liiiii.  She  had  ct-ascd  in 
l)t.'l<>ii'_j  t(»  tlu' tU'sirablc  iiiniituiv  ol"  his  lif"  :  there  was  no  pos- 
sihility  ot  :iii  easy  rehitioii  hetweeii  them  without  i^enuiiie- 
ness  on  Iiis  ])art.  Geiiuinciiess  inijilii'd  ooiiiessioii  of  tlie  ])ast, 
and  conlession  involved  a  ehan^e  of  j)uri)ose.  IJiil  Tito  lin»l 
as  little  bent  that  way  as  a  leopard  has  to  lap  milk  wlien  its 
teeth  are  grown.  From  all  relations  that  were  not  easy  and 
ijrreeable  we  know'  that  Tito  shrank  :  why  should  he  cling 
to  them  y 

And  liomola  had  made  liis  relations  difficult  with  othei-s 
besides  hersi'lf.  lie  had  had' a  troublesome  interview  with 
DoHb  !Si)ini,  who  had  come  back  in  a  rage  alter  an  inellectual 
soaking  with  rain  and  long  waiting  in  ambush,  and  that  scene 
between  Komola  and  himself  at  Nello's  door,  once  re])orted 
in  Spini's  ear,  might  be  a  seed  of  something  more  unmanage- 
able than  suspicion,  ]>ut  now,  at  least,  he  believed  that  he 
had  mastered  liomola  by  a  terror  which  ai»i)ealed  to  the 
strongest  forces  of  her  nature,  lie  had  alarmed  her  attection 
and  her  conscience  by  the  shadowy  image  of  conse(piences; 
he  had  arrested  her  intellect  by  hanging  before  it  the  idea 
of  a  hopeless  complexity  in  affairs  which  defied  any  moral 
judgment. 

Yet  Tito  was  not  at  ease.  The  world  was  not  yet  quite 
cushioned  with  velvet,  and,  if  it  had  been,  he  could  not  have 
abandoned  himself  to  that  softness  with  thorough  enjoyment ; 
for  bel'ore  he  went  out  again  this  evening  he  put  on  his  coat 
of  chain  armor. 


ciiaptp:ii  xlix. 

THE  PYKAMII)  OF  VANITIES. 

The  wintry  days  passed  for  Romola  as  the  white  shipa 
pass  one  who  is  standing  lonely  on  the  shore — jtassing  in  si- 
lence and  sameness,  and  yet  each  bearing  a  hidden  burden 
nf  coming  change.  Tito's  hint  had  mingled  so  much  <lread 
with  her  interest  in  the  progress  of  public  affairs  that  she  had 
legun  to  court  iLTnoi-ance  i-at  her  than  knowledge.  The  threat- 
ening (Jerman  P^inperor  was  gone  again;  and.  in  other  ways 
besides,  the  ])osition  of  Florence  wasaflevialcil  ;  but  so  much 
distress  remaiiu'd  that  liomolaV  active  duties  were  hardly 
diminished;  and  in  these,  as  usual,  her  mind  found  a  refuge 
from  its  doubt. 

She  dared  not  rejoice  that  the  relief  which  had  come  in 
extremity    an<l    had    appeai-ed    to   justily  the   policy  of  the 


ROIIOLA.  373 

Frate's  party  was  iniiking  that  party  so  triiimpliant,  tliat 
Francesco  Valori,  liot-teiiipered  chieftain  of  the  Piagnoni,  had 
been  elected  Gonfaloniere  at  the  beginning  of  the  year,  and 
was  making  haste  to  have  as  mvich  of  his  own  liberal  Avay  as 
possible  during  his  two  months  of  power.  That  seemed  for 
the  moment  like  a  strengthening  of  the  party  most  attached 
to  freedom,  and  a  reinforcement  of  protection  to  Savonarola  ; 
but  Romola  was  now  alive  to  every  suggestion  likely  to  deep- 
ftu  her  foreboding,  that  whatever  the  present  might  be,  it  was 
only  an  unconscious  brooding  over  the  mixed  germs  of 
Change  which  might  any  day  become  tragic.  And  already 
by  Carnival  time,  a  little  after  mid-February,  her  presenti- 
ment Avas  confirmed  by  the  signs  of  a  very  decided  change  ; 
the  Mediceans  had  ceased  to  be  passive,  and  were  openly  ex- 
erting themselves  to  procure  the  election  of  Bernardo  del 
Nero  as  the  new  Gonfaloniere. 

On  the  last  day  of  the  Carnival,  between  ten  and  eleven 
in  the  morning,  Romola  walked  out,  according  to  promise,  to- 
Avards  the  Corso  degli  Albizzi,  to  fetch  her  cousin  Brigida, 
that  they  might  botli  be  ready  to  start  from  the  Via  de' 
Bardi  early  in  the  afternoon,  and  take  their  places  at  a  Avin^ 
dow  which  Tito  had  had  reserved  for  them  in  the  Piazza  della 
Signoria,  where  there  was  to  be  a  scene  of  so  new  and  strik- 
ing a  sort,  that  all  Florentine  eyes  must  desire  to  see  it. 
For  the  Piagnoni  were  having  their  own  way  thoroughly 
about  the  mode  of  keeping  the  Carnival.  In  vain  Dolfo  Spini 
and  his  companions  had  struggled  to  get  up  the  dear  old 
masques  and  practical  jokes,  well  spiced  with  indecency. 
Such  things  were  not  to  be  in  a  city  where  Christ  had  been 
declared  king. 

Romola  set  out  in  that  languid  state  of  mind  with  which 
every  one  enters  on  a  long  day  of  sight-seeing,  purely  for  the 
sake  of  gratifying  a  child,  or  some  dear  childish  friend.  The 
day  was  certainly  an  epoch  in  carnival-keeping ;  but  this 
phase  of  reform  had  not  touched  her  enthusiasm  ;  and  she  did 
not  know  that  it  was  an  epoch  in  her  own  life,  when  another 
lot  would  begin  to  be  no  longer  secretly  but  visibly  entwined 
with  her  own. 

She  chose  to  go  thi'ough  the  great  Piazza  that  she  might 
;ake  a  first  survey  of  the  unparalleled  sight  there  while  she 
,vas  still  alone.  Entering  it  from  the  south,  she  saw  some- 
thing monstrous  and  many-colored  in  the  shape  of  a  pyramid, 
or,  rather,  like  a  huge  fir-tree,  sixty  feet  high,  with  shelves  on 
the  branches,  widening  and  widening  towards  the  base  till 
they  reached  a  circuml'erence  of  eighty  yards.  The  Piazza 
was  full  of  life  :  slight  young  figures,  in  white  garments,  with 


374  IIUMOLA. 

()live-\vi-t';itlis  on  tlicir  lio.ids,  wore  moviriG:  to  and  fro  ahout 
tilt'  bast'  ot'  tlu'  pyraniiilal  tree,  carryinu,'  Itaskcts  full  oi'  brigiit- 
coloreil  things;  and  niatuici-  Ibnns,  some  in  the  monastic 
troek,  some  in  the  loose  tunics  and  dark  red  eaps  of  artists, 
were  helpino-  and  examininsj,  or  else  retivatinj^  to  various 
points  in  the  distance  to  survey  the  wondrous  whole  :  while 
a  considerable  group,  amonj^  whom  Komola  recognized  Piero 
di  Cosimo,  standing  on  the  marble  stops  of  Orgagna's  Log 
gia,  seemed  to  be  keeping  aloof  in  discontent  and  scorn. 

Approaching  nearer,  she  paused  to  look  at  the  multifari- 
ous objects  ranged  in  gradation  from  the  base  to  the  summit 
of  tlie  j)yramid.  There  were  tapestries  and  brocades  of  im- 
modest ilesign,  pictures  and  sculptures  held  too  likely  to  in- 
cite to  vice  ;  there  wore  boards  and  tables  for  all  sorts  of 
games,  jilaying-cards  along  with  the  blocks  tor  ])rinting  them, 
tlice,  and  other  apparatus  tor  gand>ling  ;  there  were  worldly 
music-books,  and  musical  instruments  in  all  the  pretty  varie- 
ties of  lute,  drum,  cymbal,  and  trumpet ;  there  were  masks  and 
masquerading  dresses  used  in  the  old  carnival  shows  ;  there 
were  handsome  copies  of  Ovid,  Boccaccio,  Petrarch,  Pulci,and 
other  books  of  a  vain  or  impure  sort;  there  were  all  the  im- 
])lements  of  feminine  vanity — rougc-i^its,  false  hair,  mirrors, 
jK'rfumes, powders,  and  trans[iarent  veils  intended  to  ]»rovoke 
inquisitive  glances:  lastly,  at  the  very  summit,  there  was  the 
unflattering  effigy  of  a  prol)ably  mytliical  Venetian  merchant, 
who  was  understood  to  have  offered  a  heavy  sum  for  this 
collection  of  marketable  abominations,  and,  soaring  above 
him  in  surpassing  ugliness,  the  symbolic  figure  of  the  old  de- 
bauclr.'d  Carnival. 

This  was  the  j)reparation  for  a  new  sort  of  bonfire — tlio 
Burning  of  Vanities.  Hidden  in  the  interior  of  the  pyramid 
was  a  plentiful  stoiv  ot'dry  fuel  and  guiqiowder;  and  on  this 
last  <lay  of  the  festival,  at  evening,  the  ])ile  of  vanities  was  to 
be  set  ablaze  to  the  sound  of  trumpets,  and  the  ugly  old  Car- 
nival was  to  tiunbU'  into  the  flames  amidst  the  songs  of  re-* 
forming. triumph. 

This  crowning  act  of  the  new  festivities  coidd  liardlyhave 
been  prepared  but  for  a  peculiar  organization  which  hadbecn 
started  l)y  Savonarola  two  years  i)efore.  The  mass  of  the 
Florentine  boyhood  and  youth  was  no  longer  left  to  its  owi» 
genial  prom])tings  towai'ds  street  mischief  and  crude  disso- 
luteness. Under  the  training  of  Fra  Domenico,  a  sort  of  lieu- 
tenant to  Savonarola,  lads  and  striplings,  the  hope  of  Flor- 
ence, were  to  have  none  but  pure  wt)rds  on  their  lips,  were  to 
h.i\(>  a  zeal  for  unseen  good  that  shoidd  put  to  shame  the 
lukewarmness  of  their  elders,  and  wi're  to  know  Jio  pleasures 


ROilOLA.  373 

save  of  an  angelic  sort — singing  divine  praises  and  walking 
in  Vv'hitc  robes.  It  was  for  them  that  the  ranges  of  seats  had 
been  raised  high  against  the  walls  of  the  Duomo;  and  they 
had  been  used  to  liear  Savonarola  appeal  to  iheni  as  tlie  fu- 
ture glory  of  a  city  especially  appohited  to  do  the  work  of 
God. 

These  fresh-cheeked  troops  were  the  chief  agents  in  the  re- 
generated merriment  of  the  new  Carnival,  which  was  a  sort 
of  sacred  parody  of  the  old.  Had  there  been  bonfires  in  the 
old  time  V  There  was  to  be  a  bonfiro  now,  consuming  im- 
purity from  otf  the  earth.  Had  there  been  symbolic  proces- 
sions? There  were  to  be  processions  now,  but  the  symbols 
were  to  be  white  robes  and  and  red  crosses  and  olive-wreaths 
.—emblems  of  peace'and  nmocent  gladness — and  the  banners 
and  images  held  aloft  were  to  tell  the  triumphs  of  goodness. 
Had  there  been  dancing  in  a  ring  under  the  open  sky  of  the 
piazza,  to  the  sound  oi'  choral  voices  chanting  loose  songs? 
Thei-e  was  to  be  dancing  in  a  ring  now,  but  dancing  of  monks 
and  laity  ni  fraternal  love  and  divine  joy,  and  the  music  was 
to  be  the  music  of  hymns.  As  for  the  collectionsfrom  street 
passengers,  they  were  to  be  greater  than  ever — not  for  gross 
and  superfluous  suppers,  but  for  the  benefit  of  the  hungry 
and  needy ;  and,  besides,  there  was  the  collecting  of  the 
Anathema^  or  the  Vanities  to  be  laid  on  the  great  pyram- 
idal bonfire. 

Troops  of  young  inquisitors  went  from  house  to  house  on 
this  exciting  business  oi  asking  that  the  Anathema  should 
be  given  up  to  them.  Fehaps  after  the  more  avowed  vani- 
ties had  been  surrendered,  Madonna,  at  the  head  of  the  house- 
hold, had  still  certain  little  reddened  balls  brought  from  the 
Levant,  intended  to  produce  on  the  sallow  cheek  a  sudden 
bloom  of  the  most  ingenuous  falsity  ?  If  so,  let  her  bring 
them  down  and  cast  them  into  the  basket  of  doom.  Or,  per- 
haps, she  had  ringlets  and  coils  of  "  dead  hair  " — if  so,  let  her 
bring  them  to  the  street-door,  not  on  her  head,  but  in  liev 
liands,  and  publicly  renounce  the  Anathema  which  liid  the 
respectable  signs  of  age  under  a  ghastly  mockery  of  youth. 
And,  in  reward,  she  would  hear  fresh  young  voices  pronounce 
a  blessing  on  her  and  her  house. 

The  beardless  inquisitors,  organized  into  little  regiments, 
doubtless  took  to  their  work  very  willingly.  To  coerce  peo- 
ple by  shame,  or  other  si)iritual  pelting,  to  the  giving  up  of 
things  it  will  probably  vex  them  to  part  Avith,  is  a  form  of 
piety  to  which  the  boyish  mind  is  most  readily  converted  ; 
and  if  some  obstinately  wicked  men  got  enraged  and  threat- 
ened the  whip  or  the  cudgel,  this  also  was  exciting.     SaYona* 


370  ROMOLA. 

rola  li'miscir  oviilcntly  felt  :il)ont  tlio  fraiiiin<x  of  those  hoys 
th(.'  (lilliculty  Avi'Iirhini' on  all  iiiimls  with  noble  veariun<»-s  to- 
wards  ijreat  ends,  yet  with  that  iin]ierfeet  perception  of 
means  whicli  forces  a  resort  to  some  suj)ernatural  construin- 
inir  inlluence  as  the  only  sure  hope.  The  Florentine  youth 
liad  hail  very  evil  habits  and  foul  tongues:  it  seeineil  at  first 
an  unmixed  blessing  when  tiiey  were  got  to  shout  "  Viva 
Gc^uP  Jhit  Savonarola  was  ibrceil  at  last  to  sav  from  the 
pulpit,  "There  is  a  little  too  much  shouting  of  ^^ira  (jisd  /' 
This  constant  utterance  of  sacred  words  brings  them  into 
contempt.  Let  me  have  no  more  of  that  shouting  till  the 
next  Festa." 

Nevertheless,  as  the  long  stream  of  white-robed  youthful- 
ncss,  with  its  little  red  crosses  and  olive-wreaths,  had  gone 
to  the  Duoino  at  dawn  this  morning  to  receive  the  commu- 
nion from  the  hands  of  Savonarola,  ifwas  a  sight  of  beauty; 
and,  doubtless,  many  of  those  young  souls  were  laying  up 
memoiies  of  hope  and  awe  that  might  save  them  from  ever 
resting  in  a  merely  vulgar  view  of  their  work  as  men  and 
citizens.  There  is  no  kind  of  conscious  obedience  that  is  not 
an  advance  on  lawlessness,  and  these  boys  became  the  gene- 
ration of  men  who  fouglit  greatly  and  endured  greatly  in  the 
last  struggle  of  their  ivpublic.  Now,  in  the  intermediate 
hours  between  the  early  communion  and  dinner-time,  they" 
were  making  their  last  ]>erambulations  to  collect  alms  and 
vanities,  and  this  "was  why  IJoniola  saw  the  slim  white 
figures  moving  to  and  fro  about  the  base  of  the  great  pyr- 
amid. 

"  What  think  you  of  this  folly,  IMadonna  Tiomola  ?"  said 
abrusijuo  voice  close  to  her  ear.  "  Your  I'iagnoni  will  make 
rhifento  a  pleasant  ])rospect  to  us,  if  they  are  to  carry  things 
their  own  way  on  earth.  It's  enough  to  letch  a  cudgel  over 
(he  mountains  to  see  ])ainters,  like  Lorenzo  di  Cri'di  and 
voun<_r  Jiaccio  there,  heluiuu'  to  burn  color  out  of  life  in  this 
lashion. 

"^ly  good  Piero,"  said  Koinola,  looking  u]>  and  smiling  at 
the  grim  man, '•  even  you  must  be  glail  to  see  some  of  these 
things  burned.  Look  at  those  gewgaws  and  wigs  and  rouge- 
])ots  :  1  have  heard  you  talk  as  iiulignantly  against  those 
things  as  Fra  (iirolamo  himself" 

"What  then?"  said  Piero,  turning  I'ound  on  her  sharp-iy. 
"I  never  sai<l  a  woman  should  make  a  black  patch  of  h.-r- 
sclf  against  the  background.  Va  !  Madoujia  .Antigone,  ir's 
a  shame  iur  a  woman  with  your  hair  and  shoulders  to  run 
into  such  nonsense — leave  it  to  women  wha  are  not  worth 
painting;.     What!  the  most  holy  \'iit^in  herself  has  always 


ROMOLA.  377 

hccn  dressed  well;  that's  the  doctrine  of  the  Church  :  talk  of 
lieresy,  indeed  !  And  I  should  like  to  know  what  the  excel- 
lent Messer  Bardo  would  have  said  to  the  burning  of  the  di* 
vine  poets  by  these  Frati,  who  are  no  better  an  imitation  of 
men  than  if  they  were  onions  with  the  bulbs  uppermost. 
Look  at  that  Petrarca  sticking  uj:)  beside  a  rouge-pot :  do  the 
idiots  pretend  that  the  heavenly  Laura  Avas  a  painted  harri- 
dan ?  And  Boccaccio,  now  :  do  you  mean  to  say,  ]\Ladonna 
Romola — you  who  are  fit  to  be  a  model  for  a  wise  St.  Cath- 
erine of  Egypt — do  you  mean  to  say  you  have  never  read 
the  stories  of  the  immortal  Messer  GiovaimiV" 

"  It  is  tnre  I  have  read  them,  Piero,"  said  Romola.  "  Some 
of  them  a  great  many  times  over,  when  I  was  a  little  girl. 
I  used  to  get  the  book  down  when  my  father  was  asleep,  and 
I  could  read  to  myself" 

'■'■  Ebbene?''''  said  Piero,  in  a  fiercely  challenging  tone. 

"  There  are  some  things  in  them  I  do  not  want  ever  to 
forget,"  said  Romola;  "but  you  must  confess,  Piero,  that  a 
great  many  of  those  stories  are  only  about  low  deceit  for  the 
lowest  ends.  Men  do  not  want  books  to  make  them  think 
lightly  of  vice,  as  if  life  were  a  vulgar  joke.  And  I  can  not 
blame  Fra  Girolamo  for  teaching  that  we  owe  our  time  to 
something  better." 

"  Yes,  yes,  it's  very  Avell  to  say  so  now  you've  read  them," 
said  Piero,  bitterly,  turning  on  his  heel  and  Avalking  away  from 
her. 

Romola  too  walked  on,  smiling  at  Picro's  innuendo,  with 
a  sort  of  tenderness  towards  the  odd  painter's  anger,  because 
she  knew  that  her  lather  Avould  have  felt  something  like  it. 
For  herself,  she  was  conscious  of  no  inward  collision  with 
the  strict  and  sombre  view  of  pleasure  which  tended  to  re- 
press poetry  in  the  attempt  to  repress  vice.  Sorrow  and 
joy  have  each  their  peculiar  narrowness  ;  and  a  religious  en- 
thusiasm like  Savonarola's,  Avhich  ultimately  blesses  man- 
kind by  giving  the  soul  a  strong  propulsion  toAvards  sympa- 
thy with  pain,  indignation  against  wrong,  and  the  subjuga-  | 
tion  of  sensual  desire,  must  always  incur  the  reproach  of  a 
great  negation.  Roraola's  life  had  given  her  an  affinity  for 
(Sadness  which  inevitably  made  her  unjust  towards  merri- 
ment. That  subtle  result  of  culture  which  we  call  Taste 
was  subdued  by  the  need  for  deeper  motive ;  just  as  the 
nicer  demands  of  the  palate  are  annihilated  by  urgent  hun- 
ger. Moving  habitually  among  scenes  of  suffering,  and  car- 
rying woman's  heaviest  disappointment  in  her  heart,  the  se- 
verity which  allied  itself  with  self-renouncing  beneficent 
strength  had  no  dissonance  for  her. 


378  UOMOLA. 


CTTAPTER  L. 

TESSA  ARROAD  AND   AT  HOME. 

Another  fisj^uvc  easily  recoijiiized  l>y  us — a  fiG:iii'c  not  clud 
in  black,  Int  in  the  o\d  rod,  gruen,  and  white — was  aiiproaeh- 
ing  the  Piazza  that  luornniu;  to  see  the  carnival.  She  came 
from  an  opposite  i)oint,  for  Tessa  no  longer  lived  on  the  hill 
of  San  Gidigio.  After  what  ha<l  ha]))>ened  there  Avith  Bal- 
dassarre,  Tito  had  thought  it  best  for  that  and  other  reasons 
to  find  lier  a  new  home,  but  still  m  a  quiet,  airy  quarter,  in  a 
liouse  bordering  on  the  wide  garden  grounds  north  of  the 
Porta  Santa  Croce. 

Tessa  was  not  come  out  sight-seeing  without  special  leave. 
Tito  had  been  witli  her  the  evening  before,  and  she  had  kept 
back  the  entreaty  which  she  felt  to  be  swelling  her  heart  and' 
throat  until  she  saw  hini  in  a  state  of  radiant  ease,  with  one 
arm  round  the  sturdy  LiUo,  and  the  other  resting  gently  on 
her  own  shoulder  as  she  tried  to  make  the  tiny  Njiina  steady 
on  her  legs.  She  was  sure  then  that  the  weariness  with 
■which  he  had  come  in  and  flung  himself  into  his  chair  had 
quite  melted  away  from  his  brow  and  lips.  Tessa  had  not 
been  slow  at  learning  a  few  small  stratagems  by  which  she 
might  avoid  vexing  Naldo  and  yet  have  a  little  of  her  own 
way.  She  could  read  nothing  else,  but  she  had  learned  to 
read  a  good  deal  in  her  husbaiurs  face. 

And  certainly  the  charm  of  that  bright,  gentle-humored 
Tito  who  woke  up  under  the  Loggia  de'  Cerchi  on  a  Lenten 
morning  five  years  before,  not  having  yet  giveir  any  hos- 
tages to  deceit,  never  returiuMl  so  nearly  as  in  the  ]>erson  of 
Naldo,  seate<l  in  that  straigiit-l»acked,  carved  arm-chair  which 
lie  had  provided  for  his  comfort  when  he  came  to  see  Tessa 
and  the  children.  Tito  himself  was  surprised  at  the  growing 
sense  of  relief  which  he  felt  in  these  moments.  No  guile  was 
needed  towards  Tessa  :  she  was  too  ignorant  and  too  inno- 
cent to  suspect  him  of  any  thing.  And  the  little  voices  call- 
iii'jf  him  "  I>abl)o"  were  verv  sweet  in  his  ears  for  the  short 
while  that  he  heard  them.'  When  he  thought  of  leaving 
Florence  he  never  thought  of  leaving  Tessa  and  the  little 
ones  behind.  Tie  w:>s  verv  fond  of  these  round-cheeked,  wide- 
eyed  human  things  that  clung  about  him  and  knew  no  evil 
of  him.  And  wherever  aftection  can  spring,  it  is  like  the 
green   leaf  and   the   blossom — pure,  and    breathing    purity, 


ROMOLA.  370 

whatever  soil  it  may  grow  in.  Poor  Roinola,  with  all  hei* 
self-sacriticing  eftbrt,  Avas  really  helping  to  harden  Tito's  na- 
ture by  chilling  it  with  a  positive  dislike  which  had  before- 
hand seemed  impossible  in  him;  but  Tessa  kept  open  the 
fountains  of  kindness. 

"  Ninna  is  very  good  without  me  now,"  began  Tessa, 
feeling  her  request  rising  very  high  in  her  throat,  and  letting 
Ninna  seat  herself  on  the  floor.  "  I  can  leave  her  with  3Jon- 
iia  Lisa  any  time,  and  if  she  is  in  tlie  cradle  and  cries,  Lillo 
is  as  sensible  as  can  be — he  goes  and  tliumps  MonnaLisa." 

Lillo,  whose  great  dark  eyes  looked  all  the  darker  because 
his  curls  were  of  a  light  brown  like  his  mother's,  jumped  oiF 
Babbo's  knee,  and  went  forthwith  to  attest  his  intelligence 
by  thumping  Monna  Lisa,  who  was  shaking  lier  head  slowly 
over  iier  spuming  at  the  other  end  of  the  room. 

"  A  wonderful  boy  !"  said  Tito,  laughing. 

"  Isn't  he  ?"  said  Tessa,  eagerly,  getting  a  little  closer  to 
him,  "and  I  might  go  and  see  the  Carnival  to-morrow,  just 
for  an  hour  or  two,  mightn't  I  ?" 

"  Oh,  you  M-icked  pigeon  !"  said  Tito,  pinching  her  cheek ; 
"  those  are  your  longings,  are  they?  What  have  you  to  do 
with  carnivals,  now  you  are  an  old  woman  with  two  chil- 
dren ?" 

"  But  old  women  like  to  see  things,"  said  Tessa,  her  lower 
lip  hanccing  a  little.  "  ]Moima  Lisa  said  she  should  like  to  go, 
only  she's  so  deaf  she  can't  hear  what  is  behind  her,  and  she 
thinks  we  couldn't  take  care  of  both  the  cliildren." 

'*'  Xo,  indeed,  Tessa,"  said  Tito,  looking  rather  grave,  "  you 
must  not  think  of  taking  the  children  into  the  crowded 
streets,  else  I  shall  be  angry." 

"But  I  have  never  been  into  the  Piazza  without  leave," 
said  Tessa,  in  a  frightened,  pleading  tone,  "  since  the  Holy 
Saturday,  and  Nofri  I  think  is  dead,  for  you  know  the  poor 
rnadre  died  ;  and  I  shall  never  forget  the  carnival  I  saw  once  ; 
it  was.  so  pretty — all  roses,  and  a  king  and  queen  under  them 
— and  singing.     I  liked  it  better  than  the  San  Giovanni." 

"  But  there's  nothing  like  that  now,  my  Tessa.  They  are 
goi-ng  to  make  a  bonfire  in  the  Piazza — that's  all.  But  I  can 
:.iOt  let  you  go  out  by  yourself  in  the  evening." 

"  Oh^  no,"no!  I  don't  want  to  go  in  the  evening.  I  only 
want  to  go  and  see  the  procession  by  daylight.  There  inll 
be  a  procession — is  it  not  true  V" 

"Yes,  after  a  sort,"  said  Tito,  "as  lively  as  a  flight  of 
cranes.  You  must  not  expect  roses  and  glittering  kings  and 
queens,  myTessa,  However,!  suppose  any  string  of  people  to 
be  called  a  procession  will  please  your  blue  eyes.     And  there's 


380  liOMOLA. 

a  tfiintj  (lu'V  liavo  raised  in  tlie  Piazza  (k-^  Sicjnori  for  the  borv 
lire.  Vou  may  like  ti)  see  tliat.  IJiit  coiiu'  home  early,  and 
look  like  a  grave  Utile  old  woman;  and  it"  you  see  any  men 
with  feathers  and  swords  keep  out  of  their  way  :  they  are 
very  fieree,  .'ind  like  to  eut  old  women's  heads  oti'." 

"Santa  Madonna  I  where  do  they  eome  from  V  Ah!  you 
are  launhini;;  it  is  not  so  bad.  But  I  will  keep  away  from 
them.  Oidy,"  Tessa  went  on  in  a  whisper,  ])utting  her  lips 
near  Naldo's  ear,  "  if  I  mi^ht  take  Lillo  with  me  I  He  is  very 
sensible." 

"JJut  who  will  thtini])  ]M<^)nna  Lisa  tlien,  if  she  doesn't 
liear  V  said  Tito,  fmdinu,'  it  difKenlt  irot  to  lauijh,  1)ut  tliink- 
iii'jj  it  necessary  to  look  serious.  "  No,  Tessa,  you  could  not 
take  care  of  Lillo  if  you  got  into  a  crowd,  and  he's  too  heavy 
for  you  to  carry  liim." 

"  It  is  truf,"  said  Tessa,  ratlier  sadly,  "  and  he  likes  to  run 
away.  I  forgot  that.  Then  1  will  go  alone.  l>ut  now  look 
at  Ninna — you  have  not  looked  at  her  enough." 

Ninna  was  a  blue-eyed  thing,  at  the  tottering,  tumbling  age 
— a  fair  solid,  which,  like  a  loaded  die,  found  its  base  with  a 
constancy  that  w^arranted  prediction.  Tessa  went  to  snatch 
her  up,  and  when  Babbo  was  paying  due  attention  to  tlic  re- 
cent teeth  and  other  mai'vels,  she  said,  in  a  Avhisj)er,  "And 
shall  I  buy  some  co/i/iffi  for  the  children  ?" 

Tito  drew  some  small  coins  from  his  scarsella,  and  poured 
them  into  hci-  palm. 

"That  Avill  buy  no  end,"  said  Tessa,  delighted  at  tliis 
abundance.  "  I  shall  not  mind  going  without  Lillo  so  much, 
if  I  bring  him  sonu'thing." 

So  Tessa  set  out  in  the  morning  towards  the  great  Piazza 
where  the  bonfire  was  to  be.  She  did  not  thiid<  the  Feb- 
ruary breeze  cold  enough  to  demand  furtlier  covering  than 
hergreun  woollen  dress.  A  mantle  would  have  been  o]»press- 
ive,  for  it  wouUl  have  hidden  a  new  necklace  and  a  lu'w  clasp, 
mounted  with  silver,  the  only  ornamental  presents  Tito  had 
ever  made  her.  Tessa  did  not  think  at  all  of  showing  her  fig- 
ure, for  no  one  liad  ever  told  her  it  was  pretty  ;  l)ut  slie  was 
"^juite  sure  tliat  her  necklace  and  clasp  were  of  the  j)rettiest 
Bort  ever  worn  by  the  richest  contadina,  and  she  arranged  her 
white  hood  ovei-  her  head  so  that  the  front  of  her  necklace 
might  be  well  disj)layed.  Tiiese  ornaments,  she  considei-i'd, 
must  inspire  res])ect  for  her  as  tlie  wife  of  some  one  who  could 
afford  to  buy  them. 

She  trip])e(l  along  very  cheerily  in  the  Februai'y  sunshine, 
thinking  much  of  the  jiurchases  foi-  the  littU;  ones,  with  which 
ehe  was  to  fill  her  small  basket,  and  not  thinking  at  all  of  any 


EOMOLA.  381 

one  who  might  be  observing  her.  Yet  her  descent  from  her 
upper  story  into  the  street  liad  been  watched,  and  she  was 
"being  kept  in  sight  as  she  walked  by  a  person  who  had  often 
waited  in  vain  to  see  if  it  were  not  Tessa  who  lived  in  that 
honse  to  which  he  had  more  than  once  dogged  Tito.  Bal- 
dassarre  was  carrying  a  package  of  yarn:  he  Avas  constantly 
employed  in  that  way,  as  a  means  of  earning  his  scanty  bread, 
and  keeping  the  sacred  fire  of  vengeance  alive ;  and  he  had 
come  out  of  his  way  this  morning,  as  he  had  often  done  be- 
fore, that  he  miglit  pass  by  the  house  to  which  he  had  follow- 
ed Tito  in  the  evening.  His  long  imprisonment  had  so  in- 
tensified his  timid  suspicion,  and  his  belief  in  some  diabolic 
fortune  favoring  Tito,  that  he  had  not  dared  to  pursue  him, 
except  under  cover  of  a  crowd  or  of  the  darkness ;  he  felt, 
with  instinctive  horror,  that  if  Tito's  eyes  fell  upon  him,  he 
should  again  be  held  up  to  obloquy,  again  be  dragged  away  ,' 
his  weapon  would  be  taken  from  him,  and  he  should  be  cast 
helpless  into  a  prison-cell.  His  fierce  purpose  had  become  as 
stealthy  as  a  serpent's,  which  depends  for  its  prey  on  one  dart 
of  the  fang.  Justice  was  weak  and.unffiended  ;  and  he  could 
not  hear  again  the  voice  that  pealed  the  promise  of  vengeance 
in  the  Duomo  :  he  had  been  there  again  and  again  ;  but  that 
voice,  too,  had  apparently  been  stifled  by  cunning,  strong-arm- 
ed wickedness.  For  a  long  while  Baldassarre's  ruling  thought 
was  to  ascertani  whether  Tito  still  wore  the  armor ;  for  now 
at  last  his  fainting  hope  would  have  been  contented  with  a 
successful  stab  on  this  side  the  grave;  but  he  would  never 
risk  his  precious  knife  again.  It  was  a  weary  time  he  had 
had  to  wait  for  the  chance  of  answering  this  question  by 
touching  Tito's  back  in  the  press  of  the  street.  Since  then 
the  knowledge  that  the  sharp  steel  Avas  useless,  and  that  he 
had  no  hope  but  in  some  new  device,  had  fallen  with  leaden 
weight  on  his  enfeebled  mind.  A  dim  vision  of  winning  one 
of  those  two  wives  to  aid  him  came  before  him  continually, 
and  continually  slid  away.  The  wife  who  had  lived  on  the 
hill  was  no  longer  there.  If  he  could  find  licr  again  he  might 
grasp  some  thread  of  a  project,  and  work  his  way  to  more 
clearness. 

And  this  morning  he  had  succeeded.  He  was  quite  certain 
now  where  this  Avife  lived,  and  as  he  Avalked,  bent  a  little 
under  his  burden  of  yarn,  yet  keeping  the  green  and  A\d)ite 
figure  in  sight,  his  mind  Avas  dAvelling  upon  her  and  her  cir- 
cumstances as  feeble  eyes  dAvell  on  lines  and  colors,  trying  to 
interpret  them  into  consistent  significance. 

Tessa  had  to  pass  through  A'arious  long  streets  Avithout 
seeing  any  other  sign  of  the  Carnival  than  luiusual  groups  of 


382  noMoi.A. 

tlu'  ro\intry  pcoplo  in  llicir  best  Lrarments,  and  that  disposi' 
tion  ill  cMTv  body  to  i-lial  and  loittT  wiiicli  marks  tin-  early 
liours  ofa  holiday  bctbrc  the  spectaele  lias  betrun.     Presently, 
in  her  disappointcil  si'arch  for  reiiiarkablc  olijects,  hir  eyes 
fell  on  a  man  w  ith  a  pechller's  basket  before  him,  who  seemed 
to  be  selling  nothing  but  little  red  crosses  to  all  the  ])assen- 
gers.     A  little  red  cross  would  be  jtretty  to  hang  up  over  her 
ix'd ;  and  it  Avould  also  help  to  keep  ott'harm,  and  would  per- 
liaps  make  Xinna  stronger.     Tessa  went  to  the  other  side  of 
the  street,  that  slie  might  ask  the  y»cddler  the  ])rice  of  the 
crosses,  fearing  that  they  would  cost  a  little  to(j  much  for  her 
to  spare  from  her  purchase  of  sweets.     The  ))eddler's  back 
had  been  turned  towards  her  liitherto,  but  when  she  came 
near  him  she  recognized  an  old  accpiaintance  of  the  ^lercato, 
Bratti  P\'rravecchj,  and  accustonu'd  to  feel  that  she  was  to 
avoid  old  accpiaintances,  she  turned  away  again,  and  passed 
to  the  other  side  of  the  street.     I^ut  IJratti's  eye  was  too  well 
practised  in  looking  out  at  the  corner  afti'r  jiossible  custom- 
ers for  her  movement  to  have  escajied  liim,  and  she  was  pres- 
ently arrested  by  a  tap  on  the  arm  irom  one  of  the  red  crosses. 
"Young  woman,"  said  IJratti,  as  she  unwillingly  tuiiicd 
her  head,  "you  come  from  some  <-astello  a  good  way  oil",  it 
seems  to  me,  else  you\l  never  think  of  walking  about,  tliis 
blessed  Carnival,  without  a  red  cross  in  yo\ir  hand.     Santa 
Madonna!     Four  Avhite  rpuittrini  is  a  small  price  to  pay  for 
your  soul — prices  rise  in    ]turgat()ry,  let  me  tell  you." 

"Oh,  I  should  like  one,"  said  Tessa,  hastily,  "but  I  could 
not  s|)are  four  Avhite  quattrini." 

Bratti  had  at  tirst  regarded  Tessa  too  abstractedly  as  a 
mere  customer  to  look  at  her  with  any  scrutiny,  but  Mhen 
she  began  to  speak  he  exclaimed,  "  By  the  lu  ad  of  San  (iio- 
vanni,  it  must  be  the  little  Tessa,  and  looking  as  fresh  as  a 
ripe  a]>ple!  A\'hat,  you've  done  none  the  worse,  then,  for 
running  away  from  father  Nofri?  You  were  in  the  right  of 
it,  for  lie  goes  on  crutches  now,  and  a  crabbed  ieilow  with 
crutches  is  dancrerous;  he  can  reach  across  the  house  and 
beat  a  woman  as  hi'  sits." 

"Tin  niarric<l,"  said  Tessa,  ralher  demurely,  remembering 
ISaldo's  command  that  she  should  behave  with  gravity; 
'  un<l  my  husband  takes  great  care  of  me." 

"  Ah,"  then  you've  fallen  on  your  feet!  Nofri  said  you 
were  goml-ibr-nothing  vermin  ;  but  what  then  ?  An  ass  may 
bray  a  good  while  before  he  shakes  the  stai's'  down.  T  al- 
ways saiil  you  did  well  to  run  away,  and  it  isn't  often  Brat- 
tiVin  till'  wioiig.  Weil,  an<l  so  you've  got  a  husband  and 
l^lenty  of  money  V     Then  you'll  never  think  nnich  of  giving 


ROM  OLA.  o83 

four  white  quattrini  for  a  red  cross.  I  get  no  profit ;  but 
AV'hat  Avith  the  famine  and  the  new  religion,  all  other  mer- 
chandise is  gone  down.  You  live  in  the  country  where  the 
chestnuts  are  plenty,  eh  ?  You've  never  wanted  for  polenta, 
I  can  see." 

"  jSTo,  I've  never  wanted  any  thing,"  said  Tessa,  still  on 
her  guard. 

"  Then  you  can  afford  to  buy  a  cross.  I  got  a  Padre  to 
bless  them,  and  you  get  blessing  and  all  for  four  quattrini. 
It  isn't  for  the  profit ;  I  hardly  get  a  danaro  by  the  whole 
lot.  But  then  they're  holy  wares,  and  it's  getting  harder 
and  harder  work  to  see  your  way  to  Paradise  :  the  very 
Carnival  is  like  Holy  Week,  and  the  least  you  can  do  to  keep 
the  Devil  from  getting  the  upper  hand  is  to  buy  a  cross. 
God  guard  you  !  think  what  the  Devil's  tooth  is !  You've 
seen  him  biting  the  man  in  San  Giovanni,  I  should  hope  ?" 

Tessa  felt  much  teased  and  frightened.  "  Oh,  Bratti,"  she 
said  with  a  discomposed  face,  "1  want  to  buy  a  great  many 
confetti:  I've  got  little  Lillo  and  Ninna  at  home.  And  nice 
colored  sweet  things  cost  a  great  deal.  And  they  will  not 
like  the  cross  so  well,  though  I  know  it  would  be  good  to 
have  it." 

"  Come,  then,"  said  Bratti,  fond  of  laying  up  a  store  of 
merits  by  inuigining  possible  extortions  and  then  heroical!/ 
renouncing  them,  "  since  you're  an  old  acquaintance  you  A^z.'.\ 
have  it  for  two  quattrini.  It's  making  you  a  present  of  the 
cross,  to  say  nothing  of  the  blessing." 

Tessa  Avas  reaching  out  her  two  quattrini  Avith  trembling 
hesitation,  when  Bratti  said,  abruptly,  "  Stop  a  bit !  Where 
do  you  live  ?" 

"  Oh,  a  long  -sf  ay  off,"  she  answered,  almost  automaticall}-, 
being  preoccupied  with  her  quattrini ;  "  beyond  San  Ambro- 
gio,  in  the  Via  Piccola,  at  the  top  of  the'^house  where  the 
wood  is  stacked  below." 

"  Very  good,"  said  Bratti,  in  a  patronizing  tone  ;  "  then 
I'll  let  you  have  the  cross  on  trust,  and  call  for  the  money. 
So  you  live  inside  the  gates  ?     AVell,  Avell,  I  shall  be  ])assing/' 

"  No,  no  !"  said  Tessa,  frightened  lest  Naldo  should  be  an- 
gry at  this  revival  of  an  old  acquaintance.  "  I  can  spare  the 
money.     Take  it  now." 

"No,"  said  Bratti,  resolutely;  "I'm  not  a  hard-hearted 
peddler,  I'll  call  and  see  if  you've  got  any  rags,  and  you  shall 
make  a  bargain.  See,  here's  the  cross  ;  and  there's  Pippo's 
shop,  not  far  behind  you  :  you  can  go  and  fill  your  basket, 
and  I  must  go  and  get  mine  empty.     Addio^  j)lccina  ?'"' 

Bratti  went  on  his  waj^,  and  Tessa,  stimulated  to  change 


384  KOMOLA. 

hor  inr.iioy  into  confotti  hefore  fiirtlicr  accidents,  went  into 
Pij)|»()"s  sliop,  a  little  thittered  by  the  tliouL^lit  that  she  had 
let  iiratti  know  more  about  her  tlian  her  husband  would  ap- 
prove. There  Avere  certainly  more  danirers  in  comiiii^  to  see 
the  Carnival  than  stayini^  at  home  ;  and  she  AVouUl  have  felt 
this  more  strongly  if  she  had  known  lliat  the  wicked  old  man 
who  had  wanted  to  kill  her  liusband  on  the  hill,  was  still 
keej)in<jf  Ijcr  :»n  sight.  But  she  had  not  noticed  the  man  with 
the  burden  on  his  back. 

)  The  conseiou.yaess  of  having  a  small  basketful  of  tilings  to 
make  the  children  glad  dispersed  her  anxiety,  and  as  she  enter- 
ed the  \'ia  de'  LibraJ  lier  face  had  its  usual  expression  of 
child-like  content.  And  now  she  thought  there  was  really 
a  procession  coming,  lor  she  saw  wliite  robes  and  a  banner, 
and  her  heart  began  to  pal])itate  with  expectation.  Slie 
stood  a  little  aside,  luit  in  that  narrow  street  there  was  the 
pleasure  of  being  obliged  to  look  very  close.  The  banner 
Avas  pretty:  it  was  the  Holy  Mother  with  the  Babe,  whose 
love  for  her  Tessa  had  believed  in  more  and  more  since  she 
had  had  her  babies ;  and  the  figures  in  white  had  not  only 
green  wreatlis  on  their  heads,  but  little  red  crosses  by  their 
side,  which  caused  her  some  satisfaction  that  she  also  had 
her  red  cross.  Certaiidy  they  looked  as  beautiful  as  the  an- 
gels on  the  clouds,  and  to  Tessa's  mind  they  too  had  a  back- 
ground of  cloud,  like  every  thing  else  that  came  to  her  in 
life.  How  and  whence  did  they  come?  She  did  not  mind 
much  about  knowing.  But  one  thing  surprised  her  as  newer 
than  wreaths  and  crosses  ;  it  was  that  some  of  the  white 
figures  carried  baskets  between  them.  What  could  the  bas- 
kets be  for  ? 

But  now  they  were  very  near,  and,  to  her  astonishment, 
tliey  wheeled  aside  and  came  straight  u)>  to  her.  Slu'  trem- 
bled as  she  would  have  done  if  St.  .Michael  in  the  ])icture  had 
sliaken  his  liead  at  her,  and  was  conscious  of  nothing  but  ter- 
rified Avonder  till  she  saw  close  to  her  a  round  boyish  face, 
lower  tlian  her  own,  and  heard  a  treble  voice  saying,  "Sis- 
tei,  you  carry  tlu'  Aimtlniint  about  you.  Yield  it  up  to  the 
blessed  Gcsii,  and  lie  Avill  adorn  you  Avith  the  gems  of  His 
grace." 

Tessa  Avas  only  more  frighteiud,  understanding  nothing 
Her  first  conjecture  settled  on  her  basket  of  sweets.     The} 
wanted  that,  tliese  alarming  angels.      Oh,  dear,  dear!    She 
lookeil  down  at  it. 

"  Xo,  sister,"'  said  a  taller  youth,  pointing  to  her  necklace 
and  the  clasj)  of  her  belt, "  it  is  those  A'anities  that  arc  the  Ana- 
theinn.     Take  otf  that  necklace  and  unrlasp  that  belt,  that 


KOMOLA.  385 

tney  ipay  be  burned  in  the  holy  Bonfire  of  Vanities,  and  save 
you  from  burning." 

"It  is  the  truth,  my  sister,"  said  a  still  taller  youth,  evi- 
dently the  archangel  of  this  band.  "  Listen  to  these  voices 
speaking  the  divine  message.  You  already  carry  a  red  cross: 
let  that  be  your  only  adornment.  Yield  up  your  necklace 
and  belt,  and  you  shall  obtain  grace." 

This  was  too  much.  Tessa,  overcome  with  awe,  dared  not 
say  "no,"  but  she  was  equally  unable  to  render  up  her  be- 
loved necklace  and  clasp.  Her  pouting  lips  were  quivering, 
the  tears  rushed  to  her  eyes,  and  a  great  drop  fell.  For  a 
moment  she  ceased  to  see  any  thing ;  she  felt  nothing  but 
confused  terror  and  misery.  Suddenly  a  gentle  hand  was 
laid  on  her  arm,  and  a  soft,  wonderful  voice,  as  if  the  Holy 
Madonna  were  speaking,  said,  "  Do  not  be  afraid ;  no  one  shall 
harm  you." 

Tessa  looked  up  and  saw  a  lady  in  black,  with  a  young 
heavenly  face  and  loving  hazel  eyes.  She  had  never  seezi 
any  one  like  this  lady  before,  and  under  other  circumstances 
might  have  had  aAve-struck  thoughts  about  her;  but  now 
every  thing  else  was  overcome  by  the  sense  tlmt  loving  pro- 
tection was  near  her.  The  tears  only  fell  the  fastei",  i-elieving 
her  swelling  heart,  as  she  looked  up  at  the  heavenly  face,  and, 
putting  her  hand  to  her  necklace,  said,  sobbingly, 

"  I  can't  give  them  to  be  burned,  My  husband — he  bought 
them  for  me— and  they  are  so  pretty — and  Ninna — Oh,  I  wish 
I'd  never  come  !" 

"  Do  not  ask  her  for  them,"  said  Roinola,  speaking  to  the 
white-robed  boys  ii»  a  tone  of  mild  authority.  "  It  answers 
no  good  end  for  people  to  give  up  such  things  against  their 
will.  That  is  not  what  Fra  Girolamo  approves:  he  would 
have  such  things  given  up  freely." 

Madonna  Romola's  word  was  not  to  be  resisted,  and  the 
white  train  moved  on.  They  even  moved  with  haste,  as  if 
some  new  object  had^caught  their  eyes ;  and  Tessa  felt  with 
bliss  that  they  were  gone,  and  that  her  necklace  and  clasp 
were  still  with  her. 

"  Oh,  I  will  go  back  to  the  house,"  she  said,  still  agitated  ; 
"  I  will  go  nowl)ere  else.  But  if  I  should  meet  them  again, 
and  you  not  be  there?"  she  added,  expecting  every  thing 
irom  this  heavenly  lady. 

"  Stay  a  little,"  said  Romola.  "  Come  with  me  under  this 
doorway,  and  we  will  hide  the  necklack  and  clasp^and  then 
you  will  be  in  no  danger." 

She  led  Tessa  under  the  arch-way,  and  said,  "  Xow,  can  we 
find  room  for  your  necklace  and  belt  in  your  basket?     Ah  I 

17 


886  KO.MOLA. 

your  basket  is  full  of  crisp  things  that  will  hrcak :  let  U3  be 
careful  and  lay  the  licavy  lU'iklace  under  tlien^." 

It  was  like  a  change  in  a  (beam  to  Tessa — the  escape  from 
nightmare  into  floating  safety  and  joy — to  find  herself  taken 
care  of  by  this  lady,  so  lovely,  and  j)o\\erl"ul,  and  g"ntle.  Sho 
let  lioniola  unfasten  her  necklace  and  clasp,  while  she  herself 
did  nothing  but  lookup  at  the  lace  that  bent  over  her. 

"  They  are  sweets  fur  Lillo  and  Kinna,"  she  said,  as  Komo* 
la  carefully  lifted  up  the  light  parcels  in  the  basket,  and  placed 
the  ornaments  l)elo\v  then*. 

"Those  are  your  children?"  said  Komola,  smiling.  "And 
you  would  rather  go  home  to  them  than  see  any  more  of  the 
Carnival  V  Else  you  have  not  I'ar  to  go  to  the  Fiaz/.a  de'  Sig- 
nori,  and  there  you  would  see  the  ])ile  for  the  great  bonfire." 

"No;  oh,  no!"  said  Tessa,  eagerly;  "I  shall  never  like 
bonfires  again.     I  will  go  back." 

"You  live  at  some  a/.s^/^7/o,  doubtless,"  said  ]{oniola,  not 
waiting  for  an  answer.     "Towards  which  gate  do  you  go  V" 

"Towards  T*or'  Santa  Croce." 

"Come,  tlien,"  said  liomola,  taking  her  by  the  hand  and 
leading  her  to  the  comer  of  a  street  nearly  opposite.  "  If  you 
go  down  there,"  she  said,  pausing,  "  you  Avill  soon  be  in  a 
straight  road.  And  I  must  leave  you  now,  because  some  one 
else  expects  me.  Vou  will  not  be  iiightened.  Your  j)retty 
things  are  quite  safe  now.     Addio." 

"Addio,  ^Fadonna,"  said  Tessa,  almost  in  a  Avhisper,  not 
knowing  what  else  it  would  be  right  to  say  ;  and  in  an  instant 
the  heavenly  lady  was  gone.  Tessa  turned  to  catch  a  last 
glimpse,  but  she  only  saw  the  tall  gliding  figure  vanish  round 
the  ])rojectiiig  stone-work.  So  she  went  on  her  May  in  won- 
der, longing  to  be  once  more  saielv  houseil  with  JNIouua  Lisa, 
undcsirous  of  carnivals  for  evermore. 

Kaldassarre  had  kept  Tessa  in  sight  till  the  monu-nt  of  lier 
parting  with  liomola  :  then  he  went  away  with  his  bundle 
of  yarn.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  liad  discerned  a  clue  which 
miglit  guide  him  if  he<'ould  only  grasp  the  necessary  details 
firmly  enough.  He  had  seen  the  two  wives  together,  and  the 
sight  ha<l  brought  to  his  conceptions  that  vividness  which 
Jiad  been  wanting  before.  His  ]>ower  of  imagining  facts  need- 
ed to  ])c  reinforced  continuallv  bv  the  s(Mises.  Tiie  tall  wife 
was  the  noble  and  rightful  wile  ;  she  IkuI  the  blood  in  her  that 
would  be  readily  kindled  to  resentment;  she  would  know 
what  scholarshij>  Avas,  and  liow  it  might  lie  locked  in  by  the 
obstructions  of  the  stricken  body,  like  a  treasure  buried  by 
earthquake".  She  could  believe  him  :  she  would  be  inclined 
to  believe  him  if  he  proved  to  her  that  her  husband  was  u;  • 


KOMOLA.  387 

faithful.  Women  cared  .al>out  that :  they  would  take  Ven- 
geance for  that.  If  this  wife  of  Tito's  h:)ved  liiui,  she  wouhJ. 
have  a  sense  of  injury  which  Baldassarre's  mind  dwelt  on  with 
keen  lono-ing,  as  if  it  would  be  the  strenfjth  of  another  Will 
added  to  his  own,  the  strength  of  another  mind  to  form  de- 
vices. 

Both  these  Avives  had  been  kind  to  Baldassarre,  and  their 
acts  tov/ards  him,  being  bound  up  with  the  Aery  image  of  them, 
had  not  vanished  from  his  memory  ;  yet  the  thought  of  their 
pain  could  not  present  itself  to  him  as  a  check.  To  him  it 
seemed  that  pain  was  the  order  of  the  Avorld  for  all  except 
the  hard  and  base.  If  any  Avere  innocent,  if  any  Avere  noble, 
Avhere  could  the  utmost  gladness  lie  for  them?  Where  it  lay 
for  liim^in  unconquerable  hatred  and  triumphant  vengeance. 
But  he  must  be  cautious  :  he  must  watch  this  Avife  in  the 
Via  de'  Bardi,  and  learn  more  of  her ;  for  even  here  frustra- 
tion Avas  possible-  There  Avas  no  power  for  him  now  but  in 
patience. 


CHAPTER  LI. 

MONNA    BRIGIDA's    CONA-ERSIOJf. 

When  Romola  said  that  some  one  else  expected  her  f-he 
meant  her  cousin  Brigida,  but  she  Avas  far  from  suspectuig 
bow  much  that  good  kinswoman  Avas  in  need  of  her.  lieturn- 
ing  together  tOAvards  the  Piazza,  they  had  descried  the  compa- 
ny of  youths  coming  to  a  stand  before  Tessa,  and  Avhen  Ilom- 
ola,  having  approached  near  enough  to  see  the  simple  little 
contadina's  distress,  said,  "Wait  for  me  a  moment,  cousin," 
Monna  Brigida  said  hastily,  "  Ah,  I  Avill  not  go  on  :  come  for 
me  to  Boni's  shop  ;  I  shall  go  back  there." 

The  truth  Avas,  Monna  Brigida  had  a  consciousness  on  the 
one  hand  of  certain  "  vanities  "  carried  on  her  person,  and  on 
the  other  of  a  groAving  alarm  lest  the  Piagnoni  should  be 
right  in  holding  that  rouge,  and  false  hair,  and  pearl  embroid- 
ery endamaged  the  soul.  Their  serious  view  of  things  filled 
the  air  like  an  odor ;  nothing  seemed  to  have  exactly  the 
same  flavor  as  it  used  to  have  ;  and  there  Avas  the  dear  child 
Romola,  in  lier  youth  and  beauty,  leading  a  life  that  Avas  un- 
comfortably  suggestive  of  rigorous  demands  on  Avoraan.  A 
AvidoAV  at  fifty-five  AA'hose  satisfaction  has  been  largely  draAvn 
from  Avhat  she  thinks  of  lier  own  person,  and  av hat  she  be- 
lieves others  think  of  it,  requires  a  great  fund  of  imagination 
to  keep  her  spirits  buoyant.  And  Monna  Brigida  had  begun 
to  have  frequent  struggles  at  her  toilette.     If  her  soul  avouIq 


3S8  UOMOLA. 

prosper  hotter  without  tliem,  was  it  really  worth  wliile  to  put 
on  the  roui^e  and  tlie  hniids  ?  Iiut  wlien  she  lifted  up  the 
liaud-inirror  and  saw  a  sallow  face  with  haiff^y  eheeks,  and 
erow's-leet  that  were  not  to  be  dissimulated  Ijv  any  siinuer- 
iiig  of  the  lips — when  she  j)arted  her  gray  hair,  and  let  it  lie 
in  simpU'  Piai^iioiie  fashion  round  her  face,  her  eouraije  failed, 
3Ionna  Berta  would  certainly  burst  out  lau^hinii  ^it  her,  and 
call  her  an  old  hag,  and  as^Ionua  lierta  was  really  only  Hftv- 
t\vo,she  had  a  su{)eriority  which  would  make  the  observation 
cutting.  Every  woman  who  was  not  a  Pia'-^none  would  irive 
a  shrug  at  the  siglit  of  her,  and  the  men  would  accost  her  as 
if  she  were  their  grandmother.  AVhereas,  at  fifty-five  a  wom- 
an was  not  so  yery  old — she  only  re(|uired  making  uji  a  lit- 
tle. So  the  rouge  and  the  braids  ami  the  embrt)idered  ber- 
retta  went  on  again,  and  JMonna  Brigida  was  satisfied  with 
the  accustomed  effect;  as  for  her  neck,  if  she  covered  it  up 
people  might  su))pose  it  Avas  too  old  to  show,  and  (>n  the  con- 
trary, with  the  necklaces  round  it,  it  looked  better  than  Mon- 
na  Herta's.  This  very  day,  when  she  was  preparing  for  the 
Piagnone  Carnival,  such  a  struggle  had  occunvd  and  the  con- 
flicting fears  and  longings  which  caused  the  struggle  caused 
lier  to  turn  back  and  seek  refuge  in  the  druggist's  shop  rath- 
er than  encounter  the  collectors  of  the  Ancthetna  when  Ko- 
mola  was  not  by  her  side. 

JJut  Monna  Brigida  was  not  quite  rapid  enough  in  her  re- 
treat. She  had  been  descried,  even  before  she  turned  away 
by  the  white-robed  l)oys  in  the  rear  of  those  who  Avheeled 
round  towards  Tessa,  and  the  willingness  with  which  Tessa 
was  given  uj)  was,  perhaps,  slightly  due  to  the  fact  that  part 
of  the  troop  had  already  accosted  a  personage  carrying  more 
markedly  upon  her  the  dangerous  weight  of  the  AiKtthema. 
It  liai)p('neil  that  several  of  this  troop  were  at  the  youngest 
age  taken  into  peculiar  training;  and  a  small  fellow  often, 
liis  olive-wreath  restingabove  chei'nbic  cheeks  and  widebrown 
eyes,  his  imagination  really  j)ossessed  with  a  hovering  awe  at 
existence  as  something  in  which  great  consequences  impend- 
ed on  lieing  good  or  bad,  liis  longings  nevertheless  running 
in  the  direction  of  mastery  and  mischief,  was  the  first  to  reach 
]Momia  Brigida  and  place  himsi-lf  across  her  path.  She  felt 
angry  and  looked  for  an  open  door,  bnt  there  was  not  one  at 
lumd,  and  by  attempting  to  escajx'  now  she  would  otdy  make 
things  worse.  But  it  was  not  the  chernl)ic-faced  young  one 
who  first  addressed  her;  it  was  a  youth  of  fifteen  who  held 
one  handle  of  a  wide  basket. 

"  ^'enl'rable  mother  I"  he  began,  "  the  blessed  Jesus  com- 
mands you  to  give  uj»  the  Anathema  which  you  carry  upon 


ROMOLA.  389 

you.  That  cap  embroidered  with  pearls,  those  jewels  that 
fasten  up  your  false  hair — let  them  be  given  up  and  sold  for 
the  poor  ;  and  cast  tlie  hair  itself  away  from  you,  as  a  lie  that 
is  only  tit  for  burning.  Doubtless,  too,  you  have  other  jew' 
els  under  your  silk  mantle." 

"  Yes,  lady,"  said  the  youth  at  the  otlier  handle,  who  had 
many  of  Fra  Girolamo's  phrases  by  heart,  "  they  are  too 
heavy  for  you  :  they  are  heavier  than  a  millstone,  and  ai'e 
weighting  you  for  perdition.  Will  you  adorn  yourself  with 
the  hunger  of  the  poor,  and  be  proud  to  carry  God's  curse 
upon  your  head?" 

"  In  truth  you  are  old,  buona  madre,"  said  the  cherubio 
boy,  in  a  sweet  soprano.  "  You  look  very  ugly  with  the  red 
on  your  cheeks  and  that  black,  glistening  hair,  and  those  fine 
things.  It  is  only  Satan  who  can  like  to  see  you.  Your 
Angel  is  sorry.     He  wants  you  to  rub  away  the  red." 

The  little  fellow  snatched  a  soft  silk  scarf  from  the  basket, 
and  held  it  towards  Monna  Brigida,  that  she  might  use  it  as 
her  o-uardian  anojel  desired.  Her  anger  and  mortification 
w^ere  fast  giving  way  to  spiritual  alarm.  Monna  Berta,  and 
that  cloud  of  witnesses,  highly-dressed  society  in  general,  were 
not  looking  at  her,  and  she  was  surrounded  by  young  moni- 
tors, whose  Avhite  I'obcs,  and  wreatlis,  and  red  crosses,  and 
di'eadful  candor,  had  something  awful  in  their  unusualness. 
Her  Franciscan  confessor,  Fra  Cristoforo,  of  Santa  Croce, 
was  not  at  hand  to  reinforce  her  distrust  of  Dominican  teach- 
ing, and  she  Avas  helplessly  possessed  and  shaken  by  a  vague 
sense  that  a  supreme  Avarning  was  come  to  her,  Unvisited 
by  the  least  suggestion  of  any  other  course  that  was  open  to 
her,  she  took  the  scarf  that  Avas  held  out,  and  rubbed  her 
cheeks,  with  trembling  subraissiveness. 

"  It  is  well,  madonna,"  said  the  second  youth.  *'  It  is  a 
holy  beginning.  And  Avhen  you  have  taken  those  vanities 
from  your  head,  the  dcAV  of  heaA'enly  grace  Avill  descend  on 
it."  The  infusion  of  mischief  Avas  getting  stronger,  and  put- 
ting his  hand  to  one  of  the  jewelled  pins  that  fastened  her 
braids  to  the  berretta,  he  drcAV  it  out.  The  heavy  black  plait 
fell  down  over  Monna  Brigida's  face,  and  dragged  the  rest  of 
the  head-gear  forAvard.  It  Avas  a  ncAV  reason  for  not  hesita- 
ting :  she  put  up  her  hands  hastily,  undid  the  other  fastenings, 
and  flung  doAvn  into  the  basket  of  doom  her  beloA'ed  crimson 
velvet  berretta,  Avith  all  its  unsurpassed  embroidery  of  seed- 
pearls,  and  stood  an  unrouged  Avoman,  Avith  gray  hair  pushed 
backward  from  a  face  where  certain  deep  lines  of  age  had 
triumphed  over  embonpoint. 

But  the  berretta  Avas  not  allowed  to  lie  in  the  basket 


390  EOMOl-A. 

Witli  inijtisli  zeal  tlic    youngsters   liltetl  it  uj»,  and  hold  it 
j>itik'ssly,  with  the  false  hair  daiiiflini;. 

"  IScc,  venerable  mother,"  said  the  taller  youtli,  "  what  ugly 
lies  you  have  delivered  yourself  from  !  An<l  now  vou  look 
like  the  blessed  Saint  Anna,  the  mother  of  the  Holy '\'ir<;in." 

ThouGjhts  of  going  into  a  convent  forthwith,  and  never 
showing  herselfin  tin-  world  again,  were  rusliing  thron<;h  Mon- 
na  Urigida's  mintl.  There  was  nothing  possible  for  her  but  to 
take  care  of  her  soul.  Of  course,  there  wore  spectators  laugh- 
ing: she  had  no  need  to  look  round  to  assure  nersclt  of  tliat. 
"Well  !  it  would,  ])crha})s,  be  better  to  be  forced  to  think  more 
of  Paradise.  Jiut  at  the  thouglit  that  the  dear  accustomed 
world  was  no  longer  in  her  choice,  there  gathered  some  of 
those  hard  teai's  which  just  moisten  elderly  eyes,  and  she 
could  see  but  dimly  a  large  rough  hand  holding  a  re<l  cross, 
which  was  sudilenly  thrust  before  her  over  the  shoulders  of 
the  boys,  while  a  strong  guttural  voice  said, ''  Only  four  quat- 
trini,  madonna,  blessing  and  all  ?  Buy  it.  You'll  find  a  com- 
fort in  it  now  your  wig\s  gone.  Deli !  what  arc  we  sinnera 
doing  all  our  lives'?  Making  soup  in  a  basket,  and  getting 
nothing  but  the  scum  for  our  stomachs.  Better  buy  a  bless- 
ing, madonna  !  Only  four  quattrini;  the  profit  is  not  so 
much  as  the  smell  of  a  danaro,  and  it  goes  to  the  poor." 

jMonna  JJrigida,  in  dim-eyed  confusion,  was  proceeding  to 
the  further  submission  of  reaching  money  from  her  embroider- 
ed scarsella,  at  ]»resent  hidden  by  her  silk  mantle,  when  the 
group  round  her,  which  she  had  not  yet  entertained  the  idea 
of  escaping,  o))ened  before  a  figure  as  welcome  as  an  angei 
loosing  jirison  bolts. 

"  Komola,  look  at  me  !"  said  ^lonna  IJrigida,  in  a  piteous 
tone,  i)utting  out  both  her  hands. 

The  white  troo])  was  already  moving  away,  with  a  slight 
consciousness  that  its  zeal  aboiit  the  liead-geiir  ha<l  been  su- 
perabundant enough  to  afford  a  disj)ensation  from  any  further 
demand  i'or  jjcnitential  offt'rings. 

'•Dear  cousin,  don't  be  distressed,"  said  IJomola,  smitten 
with  pity,  yet  hardly  able  to  help  smiling  at  the  sudden  ap- 
parition of  her  kinswoman  in  a  genuine,  natural  guise, 
Ptrangely  contrasted  with  all  memories  f)f  her.  She  took  the 
black  flrapery  fioiu  her  own  hea<l,  and  threw  it  over  Moiina 
lirigida's.  "  There,"  she  went  on,  soothingly,  "  no  one  will 
remark  you  now.  We  will  turn  down  the  \'ia  del  Palagio 
and  go  straight  to  our  house." 

They  hastened  away,  ^Nlonna  IJrigida  grasping  Komola'.s 
hand  tightly  as  if  to  get  a  stronger  assurance  of  her  being 
actually  there. 


KOMOLA.  39i 

"All,  my  Roraola,  my  dear  child,"  said  the  short  fat  wom- 
AD,  hurrying  with  frequent  steps  to  keep  pace  with  the  ma- 
jestic young  figure  beside  her.  "  What  an  old  scarecrow  I 
am  ?     I  must  be  good — I  mean  to  be  good  !" 

"  Yes,  j^es ;  buy  a  cross  !"  said  the  guttural  voice,  while 
the  rough  hand  was  thrust  once  more  before  Monna  Brigida ; 
for  Bratti  Avas  not  to  be  abashed  by  Romola's  presence  into 
renouncing  a  probable  customer,  and  had  quietly  followed  up 
their  retreat.  "  Only  four  quattrini,  blessing  and  all — and  if 
there  was  any  profit,  it  would  all  go  to  the  poor." 

Monna  Brigida  would  have  been  compelled  to  pause,  even 
if  she  had  been  in  a  less  submissive  mood.  She  put  up  one 
hand  deprecatingly  to  arrest  Romola"'s  remonstrance,  and 
with  the  other  reached  o-ut  a  grosso,  worth  many  Avhite  quat- 
trini,  saying,  in  an  entreating  tone — 

"  Take  it,  good  man,  and  begone." 

"  You're  in  the  right,  madonna,"  said  Bratti,  taking  the 
coin  quickly,  and  thrusting  the  cross  mto  her  hand,  "  I'll  not 
oflTer  vou  change,  for  I  might  as  well  rob  a"ou  of  a  mass. 
What !  we  must  all  be  scorched  a  little,  l)ut  you'll  come  oft' 
the  easier;  better  fall  from  the  window  than  the  roof.  A 
good  Easter  and  a  good  year  to  you  !" 

"  Well,  Romola,"  cried  Monna  Brigida,  pathetically,  as 
Bratti  left  them, "  if  Tm  to  be  a  Piagnone,  it's  no  matter  how 
I  look !" 

"  Dear  cousin,"  said  Romola,  looking  at  Jier  affectionately, 
"  you  don't  know  how  much  better  you  look  than  you  ever 
did  before.  I  see  now  how  good-natured  your  fiiee  is,  like 
youi-self  That  red  and  finer}'  seemed  to  thrust  themselves 
forward  and  hide  expression.  Ask  our  Piero  or  any  other 
painter  if  he  would  not  rather  paint  your  portrait  now  than 
before.  I  think  all  lines  of  the  human  face  have  something 
either  touching  or  grand,  unless  they  seem  to  come  from  low 
passions.  How  fine  old  men  aro,  like  my  godfather!  Why 
should  not  old  Avomcn  look  grand  and  simple  ?" 

"  Yes,  when  one  gets  to  be  sixty,  my  Romola,"  said  Brigi- 
da, rekipsing  a  little  ;  "  but  I'm  only  fifty-five,  and  Monna 
Berta  and  every  body — but  it's  no  use :  I  will  be  good  like 
you.  Your  mother,  if  she'd  been  alive,  would  have  been  as 
old  as  I  am — we  were  cousins  together.  One  7ni/st  either  die 
or  get  old.  But  it  doesn't  matter  about  being  old,  if  one's  3 
Piagnone."     * 


392  KUMOI  A* 


CHAPTER  LH. 

A    PROril  ETESS. 

TriE  inci<1onts  of  tliat  Carnival  day  pocnicd  to  Roniola  to 
sarrv  no  otlicr  ]»i'rsonal  coiisequciicc's  to  her  tlian  the  now  care 
of  supporting  poor  cousin  ]>riiji(la  in  her  Huetuatiiig  resigna- 
tion to  aLje  and  gray  hairs;  hut  they  introduced  a  Lenteu 
time  in  wiiicli  she  was  kept  at  a  high  pitch  of  mental  excite 
ment  and  active  etfort. 

Bernardo  del  Nero  had  been  elected  (lonfaloniei-e.  By 
great  exertions  the  Medicean  ])arty  had  so  fur  triumphed, 
and  that  triumph  had  dee])ened  Komola's  presentiment  of 
some  secretly  ]>reparcd  scheme  likely  to  ripen  eitlier  into  suc- 
cess or  betrayal  dui-ing  these  two  months  of  her  godiather's 
authority.  Every  morning  the  dim  daybreak,  as  it  peered 
into  hcr'room,  seemed  to  be  that  haunting  fear  coming  back 
to  her.  Every  morning  the  fear  went  with  her  as  die  ))assed 
through  the  streets  on  her  Avay  to  the  early  sermon  in  the 
Duonio  :  but  there  she  gradually  lost  the  sense  of  its  chill 
presejice,  as  men  lose  the  dread  of  death  in  the  clash  of  l)at- 
tle.  «" 

In  the  Duomo  she  felt  herself  sharing  in  a  passionate  con- 
flict which  had  wider  relations  than  any  inclosed  within  the 
walls  of  Florence.  I'^'or  Savonarola  was  preaching — preach- 
ing till'  last  course  of  Lenten  sermons  he  was  ever  allowed 
to  finish  in  tlie  Duomo:  he  knew  that  excommunication  was 
iinminent,  and  he  had  reached  the  point  of  defying  it.  lie 
held  up  the  condition  of  the  Chundi  in  the  tenihle  minor  of 
his  unllinching  speech,  which  called  things  by  their  right 
names  and  dealt  in  no  polite  periphrases ;  he  ju'oclaimed  with 
heightening  confidence  the  advent  of  renovation — of  a  mo- 
ment when  there  would  V)e  a  general  revolt  against  corrup- 
tion. As  to  his  own  destiny,  he  seemed  to  have  a  double  and 
alternating  ])revisi<in;  sometimes  he  saw  himself  taking  :i 
glorious  pai-t  in  that  revolt,  sending  forth  a  \()ice  that  would 
be  heard  through  all  Christendom,  and  making  ihe  dead  body 
of  the  Church  tremble  into  new  life,  as  the  bf)dy  of  Lazarus 
trembled  when  the  divine  voice  i»ierced  the  sepulchre  ;  some- 
times he  saw  no  ]>ros])ect  for  himself  but  ]iersecution  and 
martyrdom  : — this  life  for  him  was  only  a  vigil,  and  only  af 
ter  death  would  come  the  dawn. 

The  position  Avas  one  which  must  have  had  its  impressive 


ROMOLA.  393 

noss  ior  all  minds  that  were  not  of  the  dullest  order,  even  if 
they  Avere  inclined,  as  Macchiavelli  Avas,  to  interpret  the 
Frate's  character  Ly  a  key  that  ])resupposed  no  loftiness.  To 
Romola,  whose  kindred  ardor  gave  her  a  firm  belief  in  Savo 
narola's  genuine  greatness  of  purpose,  the  crisis  was  as  stir- 
rmg  as  if^it  had  been  part  of  her  personal  lot.  It  blent  itself 
as  an  exalting  memory  with  all  her  daily  labors  ;  and  those 
labors  were  calling  not  only  for  dilficult  perseverance,  but  for 
new  courage.  Famine  had  never  yet  taken  its  flight  from 
Florence,  and  all  distress,  by  its  long  continuance,  was  getting 
harder  to  bear ;  disease  was  spreading  in  the  crowded  city 
and  the  Plague  was  expected.  As  Romola  walked,  often  in 
weariness,  among  the  sick,  the  luingry,  and  the  murmuring, 
she  felt  it  good  to  be  inspired  by  something  more  than  her 
pity — by  the  belief  in  a  heroism  struggling  for  sublime  ends, 
towards  Avhich  the  daily  action  of  her  pity  could  only  tend 
feebly,  as  the  dews  that  freshen  the  weedy  ground  to-day 
tend  to  prepare  an  unseen  harvest  in  the  years  to  come. 

But  that  mighty  music  which  stirred  her  in  the  Duomo 
was  not  without  its  jarring  notes.  Since  those  first  days  of 
glowing  hope  when  the  Frate,  seeing  the  near  triumph  of 
good  in  the  reform  of  the  Republic  and  the  coming  of  the 
French  deliverer,  had  preached  peace,  charity,  and  oblivion  of 
political  differences,  there  had  been  a  marked  change  of  cou' 
ditions:  political  intrigue  had  been  too  obstinate  to  allow  of 
the  desired  oblivion  ;  the  belief  in  the  deliverer,  who  had  turn- 
ed liis  back  on  liis  high  mission,  seemed  to  have  wrought 
harm ;  and  hostility,  both  on  a  petty  and  on  a  grand  scale, 
Avas  attacking  the  Prophet  with  new  Aveapons  and  ncAV  de- 
termination. It  followed  that  the  spirit  of  contention  and 
self-vindication  pierced  more  and  more  conspicuously  in  his 
sermons  ;  that  he  Avas  urged  to  meet  the  popular  demands 
not  only  by  increased  insistence  and  detail  concerning  visions 
and  private  revelations,  but  by  a  tone  of  defiant  confidence 
against  objectors ;  and  from  having  denounced  the  desire  for 
the  miraculous,  and  declared  that  miracles  had  no  relation  to 
true  faith,  he  liad  come  to  assert  that  at  the  right  moment 
the  Divine  power  Avould  attest  the  truth  of  his  prophetic 
preaching  by  a  miracle.  And  continually,  in  the  rapid  tran- 
sitions of  excited  feeling,  as  the  vision  of  triumphant  good  re- 
ceded behind  the  actual  predominance  of  evil,  the  threats  of 
coming  A'engeance  against  vicious  tyrants  and  corrupt  priests 
gathered  some  impetus  from  personal  exasperation,  as  well  as 
from  indignant  zeal.  In  the  career  of  a  great  public  orator 
who  yields  himself  to  the  inspiration  of  the  moment,  that  con- 
flict of  selfish  and  unselfish  emotion  Avhich  in  most  men  is 

17* 


31)4  UOMOLA. 

liiiMc'M  in  the  cliambcr  of  tlio  soul  is  brought  into  tcrrtMe 
ovitK'iRH' :  the  language  of  the  inner  voices  is  written  out  in 
letters  of  fire. 

But  if  the  tones  of  exasperation  jarred  on  lioniola,  there 
was  often  another  member  of  Fra  Girulamo's  audience  to 
whom  they  were  the  only  thrilling  tones,  like  the  vibration 
of  deep  bass  notes  to  the  deaf  IJaldassarre  had  found  out 
tliat  the  wonderful  Frate  was  preaching  again,  and  as  often 
as  he  could  he  went  to  hear  the  Lenten  sermon,  that  he  might 
drink  in  the  threats  of  a  voice  which  seemed  like  a  ])ower  on 
the  side  of  justice.  lie  went  the  more  because  he  had  seen 
that  Komoia  went  too;  for  lie  was  waiting  and  watching  for 
a  time  when  not  only  outward  cireum;-tanee,  but  his  own 
vai'viu'j:  mental  state,  would  mark  the  right  moment  for  seek- 
ing an  interview  with  hei-.  Twice  ilomohi  liad  caught  sight 
of  his  face  in  the  Duomo — once  when  its  dark  glance  was 
fixed  on  hers.  She  wished  not  to  see  it  again,  and  yet  she 
looked  for  it,  as  men  look  for  the  rca|>pearance  of  a  ])ortent. 
But  any  revelation  that  might  be  yet  to  come  about  this  old 
man  was  a  subordinate  fear  now :  it  referred,  she  thought, 
only  to  the  past,  and  her  anxiety  was  almost  absorbed  by  the 
present. 

Yet  the  stirring  Lent  passed  by ;  A])ril,  the  second  and 
final  month  of  her  godfather's  supreme  authority,  was  near 
its  close  ;  and  nothing  had  occurred  to  fultill  her  presentiment. 
Li  the  public  mind,  too,  there  had  been  fears,  and  rumors  had 
spread  from  Home  of  a  menacing  activity  on  the  ])art  of 
Pieio  de'  Meilici ;  but  in  a  i'vw  days  the  suspected  Bernardo 
would  go  out  of  power,  llomola  was  trying  to  gather  some 
courage  from  the  review  of  her  futile  fears,  wiien  on  the 
twenty-seventh,  as  she  was  walking  out  on  her  usual  errands 
of  mercy  in  tlie  afternoon,  she  was  met  by  a  messenger  from 
(.'amilla  Ivucellai,  chief  among  the  feminine  seers  of  Florence, 
desiring  her  ])resence  forthwith  on  matters  of  tlu'  highest 
moment,  liomola,  who  shrank  with  uiu'onqueral)le  disgust 
from  the  shrill  excit.ability  of  those  illuminate<l  women,  and 
nadjust  now  a  special  rei)Ugnanc-e  towards  Camilla  because 
of  a' rejiort  that  she  had  aniiouuccil  rex fhitions  hostile  to 
lii'rnardo  del  Xero,  was  at  iirst  inclined  to  send  back  a  flat 
refusal.  Camilla's  message  might  refer  to  public  affairs,  and 
Homola's  imnu'dlate  promjjting  was  to  close  her  ears  against 
knowledLre  that  might  only  make  her  mental  buitlen  heavier. 
But  it  hail  become  so  thoroughly  her  habit  to  reject  her  im- 
pulsive choice,  ainl  to  obey  passively  the  guidance  of  out- 
ward claims,  that,  rejjroving  herself  for  allowing  her  presenti- 
ments to  make  her  cowardly  and  sellisli,  she  endinl  l).v  com- 


EOMOLA.  395 

yliance,  and  went  straight  to  CamilLi.  She  found  the  nerv' 
ous,  gray-haired  woman  in  a  chainher  arranged  as  much  as 
possible'like  a  convent  cell.  The  thin  fingers  clutching  Rora- 
ola  as  she  sat,  and  the  eager  voice  adtlressing  her  at  first  in 
a  loud  whisper,  caused  her  a  physical  shrinking  that  made  it 
difficult  for  her  to  keep  her  seat. 

Camilla  had  a  vision  to  communicate — a  vision  in  which  it 
had  been  revealed  to  her  by  Romola's  Angel  that  Romola 
knew  certain  secrets  concerning  her  godfather,  Bernardo  del 
Nero,  which,  if  disclosed,  might  save  the  Republic  from  peril. 
Camilla's  voice  rose  louder  and  higher  as  she  narrated  her 
vision,  and  ended  by  exhorting  Romola  to  obey  tlie  command 
of  her  Angel,  and  separate  lierself  from  the  enemy  of  God. 

Romola's  impetuosity  was  that  of  a  massive  nature,  and, 
except  in  moments  when  she  was  deeply  stirred,  her  manner 
was  calm  and  self-control  led.  Slie  had  a  constitutional  dis- 
gust for  the  shallow  excitability  of  women  like  Camilla, 
whose  faculties  seemed  all  wrought  up  into  fantasies,  leaving 
nothing  for  emotion  and  thought.  The  exhortation  was  not 
yet  ended  when  she  started  up  and  attempted  to  wrench  her 
arm  from  Camilla's  tigliteiiing  grasp.  It  was  of  no  use.  The 
prophetess  kept  her  hold  like  a  crab,  and,  only  incited  to  more 
eager  exhortation  by  Romola's  resistance,  was  carried  be- 
yond her  own  intention  into  a  shrill  statement  of  other  vis- 
ions which  were  to  corroborate  this.  Christ  himself  had  ap- 
peared to  her  and  ordered  her  to  send  his  commands  to  cer- 
tain citizens  in  office  that  they  should  throw  Bernardo  del 
Xero  from  the  window  of  the  Palazzo  Yecchio.  Fra  Girola- 
mo  himself  knew  of  it,  and  had  not  dared  this  time  to  say 
that  the  vision  was  not  of  Divine  authority. 

"And  since  then,'*  said  Camilla,  in  her  excited  treble, 
straining  upward  with  wild  eyes  towards  Romola's  face,  "  the 
Blessed  Infant  has  come  to  me  and  laid  a  wafer  of  sweetness 
on  my  tongue  in  token  of  his  pleasure  that  I  had  done  his 
will." 

"  Let  me  go !"  said  Romola,  in  a  deep  voice  of  anger. 
"  God  grant  you  are  mad  !  else  you  are  detestably  wicked !" 

The  violence  of  her  effort  to  be  free  was  too  strong  for 
Camilla  this  time.  She  wrenched  away  her  arm  and  rushed 
out  of  the  room,  not  pausing  till  she  had  gone  hurriedly  far 
along  the  street,  and  found  herself  close  to  the  church  of  the 
Badia.  She  had  but  to  pass  behind  the  curtain  under  the  old 
stone  ai'ch,  and  she  would  find  a  sanctuary  shut  in  from  the 
noise  and  hurry  of  the  street,  where  all  objects  and  all  uses 
suggested  the  thought  of  an  eternal  peace  subsisting  in  the 
midst  of  turmoil.     She  turned  in,  and  sinking  down  on  the 


.1!)(;  ROMOLA. 

stop  of  tlic  altar,  ill  front  of  Kili]i|iitu)  Lippi's  5oronc  Virgin 
apprariiiLj  to  St.  lU'riiard,  slio  waited  in  lioiir  that  the  inward 
tumult  which  ajxitatcd  hir  would  by-and-by  subsidt. 

Till'  thouLcht  which  pressed  on  lier  the  most  acutely  was 
that  C'atnilla  eouKl  alleijjc  Savonarola's  countenance  of  her 
wicked  folly.  Homola  did  not  for  a  moment  believe  that  ho 
iiad  sanctioned  the  throwing  of  IJernardo  del  Nero  from  the 
window  as  a  Divine  suggestion;  she  felt  certain  that  there 
",vas  falsehood  or  mistake  in  that  allegation.  Savonarcjla  had 
become  more  and  more  severe  in  his  views  of  resistance  to 
malcontents;  but  the  ideas  of  strict  law  and  order  were 
fundamental  to  all  his  })olitical  teaching.  Still,  since  he  knew 
the  possibly  fatal  effects  of  visions  like  Camilla's,  since  he  had 
a  niai"ked  distrust  of  such  sjiirit-seeing  women,  and  kept  aloof 
from  them  as  much  as  ]iossiy>le,  Avhy,  with  his  readiness  to 
<lenoimce  wrong  from  the  pulpit,  did  he  not  pul)licly  denounce 
these  pretended  revelations  which  Ijrought  new  darkness  in- 
stead of  liiiht  across  the  conception  of  a  Supivme  Will? 
Why  'i  The  answer  came  with  paiiil'ul  clearness  :  he  was  let- 
tered inwardly  by  the  consciousness  that  sncli  revelations 
were  not,  in  their  basis,  distinctly  separable  from  his  own  vis- 
ions ;  he  was  fettered  outwardly  by  the  ibreseen  consequence 
of  raising  a  cry  against  himself  even  among  members  of  his 
own  party,  as  one  who  would  suppress  all  Divine  inspiration 
of  whicli  he  himself  was  not  the  vehicle — he  or  his  confidential 
and  suj>})lementary  seer  of  visions,  Fra  Sahestro. 

Romola,  kneeling  Avith  buried  face  on  the  altar -step, 
was  emluring  one  of  those  sickening  moments  when  the  en- 
thusiasm Avhich  had  come  to  lier  as  the  only  energy  strong 
enough  to  make  life  worthy,  seeme<l  to  be  inevitably  bound 
up  \\\\\\  \\\\\\  dreams  and  willful  eye-shutting.  Her  mind 
rushed  back  with  a  new  attiaction  towards  the  strong  world- 
ly sense,  the  dignified  prudence,  tlie  unthet)retic  virtues  of 
hev  godfather,  who  was  to  be  treated  as  a  sort  of  Agag  be- 
cause he  luld  that  a  more  restricted  form  of  government  was 
better  than  the  (ireat  Council,  and  because  he  would  not  ])i-e- 
tend  to  forget  old  ties  to  tlu'  banished  family.  But  with  this 
last  thought  rose  the  ])resentiment  of  some  plot  to  restore 
■:he  ^ledici  :  and  then  again  she  felt  that  the  ])0]iular  -[larty 
VV5S  lialf  justified  in  its  fierce  suspicion.  Again  she  felt  that 
to  keep  the  Government  of  Florence  pure,  and  to  keep  out  a 
vicious  rule,  Avas  a  sacred  cause  ;  the  Fi-ate  was  right  there, 
and  had  carried  lier  nnderstanding  irrevocabh'  with  him. 
lint  at  this  moment  the  assent  of  her  understanding  -went 
alone;  it  was  given  iinwiUingly.  Her  lieart  was  recoiling 
from  a  right  allied  to  so  much  narrowness;  a  right  a))parent' 


R03I0L.V.  39V 

ly  entailincc  that  hard  systematic  judgment  of  men  wliich 
nieasures  them  by  assents  and  denials  quite  superficial  to  the 
manhood  within  them.  Her  aflection  and  respect  were  cling- 
ing with  new  tenacity  to  her  godfather,  and  with  him  to 
those  memories  of  her  father  which  were  in  the  same  opposi- 
tion to  the  division  of  men  into  sheep  and  goats  by  the  easy 
mark  of  some  political  or  religious  symbol. 

After  all  has  been  said  that  can  be  said  about  the  widen- 
ing influence  of  ideas,  it  remains  true  that  they  would  hardly 
be  such  strong  agents  unless  they  were  taken  in  a  solvent  of 
feeling.  The  great  -world-struggle  of  developing  tliought  is 
continually  foreshadowed  in  the  struggle  of  the  aifections, 
seeking  a  justification  for  love  and  hope.  If  Roinola's  intel- 
lect had  been  less  capable  of  discerning  the  complexities  in 
human  things,  all  the  early  loving  associations  of  her  life 
would  have  forbidden  her  to  accept  implicitly  the  denuncia- 
tory exclusiveness  of  Savonarola.  She  had  simply  felt  that 
his  mind  had  suggested  deeper  and  more  efficacious  truth  tn 
her  than  any  other,  and  the  large  breathing-room  she  found 
in  his  grand  view  of  human  duties  had  made  her  patient  to- 
wards that  part  of  his  teaching  which  she  could  not  absorb, 
so  long  as  its  practical  effect  carie  into  collision  with  no 
strongforce  in  her.  But  now  a  sudden  insurrection  of  feel- 
ing had  brought  about  that  collision.  Pier  indignation,  once 
roused  by  Camilla's  visions,  could  not  pause  there,  but  ran 
like  nn  illuminating  fire  over  all  the  kindred  facts  in  Savona- 
rola's teaching,  and  for  the  moment  she  felt  what  Avas  true 
m  the  scornful  sarcasms  she  heard  continually  flung  against 
him,  more  keenly  than  what  was  false. 

But  it  Avas  an  illumination  that  made  all  life  look  ghastly 
to  her.  Where  Avere  the  beings  to  Avhom  she  could  cling, 
with  Avhom  she  could  Avork  and  endure,  with  the  belief  that 
she  was  Avorking  for  the  right?  On  the  side  from  Avhich 
m.oral  energy  came  lay  a  tanaticism  from  Avhich  she  Avas 
shrinking  Avith  ncAvly  startled  repulsion  ;  on  the  side  to  Avhich 
she  was  diawn  by  aflection  and  memory,  there  Avas  the  pre- 
sentiment of  some  secret  plotting,  Avhicii  her  judgment  told 
her  Avould  not  be  unfairly  called  crime.  And  still  surmount- 
ing every  other  thought  Avas  the  dread  inspii'ed  by  Tito's 
riints,  lest  that  presentiment  should  be  converted  into  knoAvl- 
edge,  in  such  a  Avay  that  she  would  be  torn  by  irreconcilable 
claims. 

Calmness  Avould  not  come  even  on  the  altar-step  ;  it  would 
not  come  from  looking  at  the  serene  picture  Avhere  the  saint, 
Avriting  in  the  rocky  solitude,  Avas  being  visited  by  faces  Avith 
celestial  peace  in  them.     Komola  Avas  in  the  hard  press  of  hu- 


30  i  ROMOLA. 

fiian  ililiicultics,  ami  that  rocky  solitude  was  too  far  oil".  Slie 
rose  I'roiii  Iht  km-is  tliat  slic  iiiiLrlit  hasten  to  her  siek  people 
in  the  couit-yaiil,  and,  l>y  some  iiiiiiu-iliatc  Ix-iieficeiit  action 
revive  that  sense  of  worth  in  lile  which  at  this  nionu'iit  was 
unfed  by  any  wider  faith.  But  when  she  turned  round  slio 
found  herself  face  to  face  with  a  man  who  was  standing  only 
tw  J  yards  off  lier.     The  man  was  JJaldassarre. 


CllAlTEll  LIII. 

ON    SAN    M I N I A  T  O  , 


"I  WOULD  speak  witli  you,"  said  IJaldassarre,  as  Tvomols 
looked  at  him  in  sih'iit  expectation.  It  was  plain  that  he 
had  ioUowed  her,  and  had  been  waitiiiL;,-  lor  her.  She  was 
goinu  at  last  to  know  the  secri-t  about  him. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  with  the  same  sort  of  submission  that  she 
might  liave  shown  under  an  imposed  penance.  "But  you 
wish  to  go  where  no  one  can  liear  us  V" 

"  Where  lie  will  not  come  u])on  us,"  sai<l  Baldassarre, 
tnrniiH'-  and  glancing  behind  him  timidly.  "  Out — in  the 
air — away  from  the  streets." 

"  I  sometimes  go  to  San  ]Minrato  at  this  hour,"  sai<l  liomo- 
la.  "If you  like,  I  will  go  now,  and  you  can  follow  me.  It 
is  but  far,  we  can  be  solitary  there." 

He  nodded  assent,  and  Komola  set  out.  To  some  women 
it  might  have  seemed  an  alarming  risk  to  go  to  a  compara- 
tively solitary  spot  Avith  a  man  w  ho  had  some  of  the  outward 
signs  of  that  madness  which  Tito  attributed  to  him.  r>ut 
jvomola  was  not  given  to  ))crsonal  fi-ars,  and  she  was  ^rlad  of 
the  distance  that  interposeil  some  delay  before  another  blow 
fell  on  her.  The  afternoon  was  far  advanced,  and  the  sun 
was  already  low  in  the  west,  when  she  jtaused  on  some  rough 
ground  in  the  shadow  of  the  cypress  trunks,  and  looked 
round  for  Baldassarre.  He  was  not  far  off,  but  when  he 
reached  lu-r,  he  was  glad  to  sink  down  on  an  edge  of  stony 
L'arth.  His  thick-set  fiame  had  no  longer  the  sturdy  vigor 
which  belonged  to  it  when  he  tiist  ap]tearitl  with  the  rope 
round  him  in  the  Duomo;  a\id  under  the  transient  tremor 
caused  by  the  exertion  of  walking  up  the  hill.  Ids  eyes  seem- 
ed to  have  a  more  helpless  \  agueness. 

"The  hill  is  steep,"  said  IJomola,  with  compassionate  gen. 
tleness,  seating  lierself  by  him,  "and  I  fear  you  liave  beei 
weakened  by  want." 

He  turned  his  head  and  fixed  his  eyes  on  her  in  sileno 


ROMOLA.  399 

anable,  now  the  moment  for  speech  was  come,  to  seize  the 
words  that  would  convey  the  thought  he  wanted  to  utter: 
and  she  remained  as  motionless  as  she  could,  lest  he  should 
sujtpose  her  impatient.  He  looked  like  nothing  higher  than 
a  couxmon-bred,  neglected  old  man ;  but  she  was  used  now 
to  be  very  near  to  such  people,  and  to  think  a  great  deal 
about  their  troubles.  Gradually  his  glance  gathered  a  more 
-ilefinite  expression,  and  at  last  he  said,  with  abrupt  empha- 
sis— 

"  Ah  !  you  would  have  been  my  daughter  !" 

The  swift  flush  came  in  Romola's  face  and  went  back 
again  as  swiftly,  leaving  her  with  white  lips  a  little  apart, 
like  a  marble  image  of  horror.  For  her  mind  this  revelation 
was  made.  She  divined  the  facts  that  lay  behind  that  single 
word,  and  in  the  first  moment  there  could  be  no  check  to  the 
impulsive  belief  which  sprang  from  her  keen  experience  of 
Tito's  nature.  The  sensitive  response  of  her  face  was  a  stim- 
ulus to  Baldassarre  ;  for  the  first  time  his  words  had  wrought 
their  right  eftect.  He  went  on  with  gathering  eagerness 
and  firmness,  laying  his  hand  on  her  arm. 

"  You  are  a  woman  of  proud  blood — is  it  not  true  ?  You 
go  to  hear  the  preacher;  you  hate  baseness — baseness  that 
smiles  and  triumphs.     You  hate  your  husband  ?" 

"O  God!  were  you  really  his  father?"  said  Romola,  in 
a  low  voice,  too  entirely  possessed  by  the  images  of  the  past 
to  take  any  note' of  Baldassarre's  question.  "  Or  was  it  as  he 
said?     Did  you  take  him  when  he  was  little?" 

"Ah,  you"  believe  me — you  knoAV  what  he  is!"  said  Bal- 
dassarre, exultingly,  tightening  the  pressure  on  her  arm,  as  if 
the  contact  gave  him  power.     "  You  will  help  me  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Romola,  not  interpreting  the  words  as  lie 
meant  them.  She  laid  her  palm  gently  on  the  rough  hand 
that  grasped  her  arm,  and  the  tears  came  to  her  eyes  as  she 
looked  at  him.  "Oh!  it  is  piteous!  Tell  me — why,  you 
were  a  great  scholar  ;  you  taught  him.     Hovi  is  it  ?" 

She  broke  oif.  Tito's  allegation  of  this  man's  madness  had 
come  across  her;  and  where  were  the  signs  even  of  past  re- 
finement ?  But  she  had  the  self-command  not  to  move  her 
hand.  She  sat  perfectly  still,  waiting  to  listen  with  new  cau- 
tion. 

"  It  is  gone  ! — it  is  all  gone  !"  said  Baldassarre  ;  "  and 
they  would  not  believe  me,  because  he  lied,  and  said  I  was 
mad;  and  they  had  me  dragged  to  prison.  And  I  am  old 
— my  mind  will  not  come  back.     And  the  world  is  against 


me." 


He  paused  a  moment,  and  his  eyes  sank  as  if  he  were  under 


400  ROMOLA. 

a  wave  of  ilospomlcncy.  Then  he  looked  up  at  lier  again,  and 
sai<l,  witli  renewed  eagerness, 

'•  l>ut  you  are  not  against  me.  He  made  you  love  him, 
aiitl  he  lias  been  false  to  you;  and  you  liate  him.  Yes,  he 
made  nie  love  him  :  he  "was  beautiful  and  gentU',  and  I  was 
a  lonely  man.  I  took  him  when  they  were  beating  him.  He 
slej)t  in  my  bosom  when  he  was  litlle,  ami  I  watehed  him  as 
he  grew,  and  gave  him  all  my  knowU'dge,  and  every  thing 
that  was  mine  I  meant  to  be  his.  I  had  many  things:  mon- 
ey, and  books,  and  gems.  He  had  my  gems — he  sold  them; 
and  he  left  me  in  slavery.  He  never  eame  to  seek  me,  and 
when  I  came  back  ])Oor  and  in  misery,  he  denied  me.  He 
gaid  I  was  a  madman." 

"He  told  us  his  father  was  dead — was  drowned,"  said 
Romola,  iaintly.  "  Surely  he  must  have  believed  it  then. 
Oh  !  lie  could  not  have  been  so  base  thenP'' 

A  vision  had  risen  of  what  Tito  was  to  her  in  those  first 
days  when  she  thought  no  more  of  wrong  in  him  than  a  child 
thinks  of  poison  in  flowers.  The  yearning  regret  that  lay  in 
that  memory  brought  some  relief  irom  the  tension  of  horror. 
With  one  great  sob  the  tears  rushed  forth. 

"  Ah,  you  are  young,  and  the  tears  come  easily,"  said  Bal- 
dassarre,  with  some  imjiatience.  "But  tears  arc  no  good:  they 
only  put  out  the  lire  within,  and  it  is  the  fire  tliat  Avorks. 
Tears  will  hinder  us.      Listen  to  me." 

Komola  turned  towards  him  with  a  slight  start.  Again 
the  possibility  of  las  madness  had  darted  through  her  mind, 
and  checked  the  rush  of  belief  If,  after  all,  this  man  were 
only  a  mad  assassin  'i  But  her  deej)  belief  in  his  story  still 
lay  behind,  and  it  was  more  in  sympathy  than  in  fear  that 
she  avoided  the  risk  of  paining  him  by  any  show  of  douht. 

"Tell  me,"  she  said,  as  gently  :is  she  could,  "how  did  you 
lose  your  memory — your  scholarshii)  V" 

"  I  was  ill.  I  can't  tell  how  long — it  was  a  blank.  I  re- 
member nothing,  only  at  last  I  was  sitting  in  the  sun  among 
the  stones,  and  every  thing  else  was  darkness.  And  slowly, 
and  by  degrees,  I  felt  something  besides  that ;  a  longing  for 
something — T  did  not  know  what — that  never  came.  And 
when  I  was  in  the  shi])  on  the  waters  I  began  to  know  what 
I  longed  lor:  it  was  for  the  Boy  to  come  back — it  was  to 
find  all  niy  thoughts  again,  for  1  w:'s  locked  away  outside 
thcTM  ;dl.  And  I  am  outside  now.  1  feel  nothing  but  a  Mall 
;uid  darkness." 

Baldassarrehad  become  dreamy  again,  and  sank  into  silence, 
resting  his  head  bctwi'cn  his  hands;  and  again  Tiomola's  be- 
lief in  him  had  submerged  all  cautionintr  doubts.     The  pity 


EOMOLA.  40  V 

witli  which  she  dwelt  on  liis  words  seemed  like  the  revival 
of  an  old  pang.  Had  she  not  daily  seen  how  her  father  miss- 
ed Dino  and  the  future  he  had  dreamed  of  in  that  son  ? 

"It  all  came  back  once,"  Baldassarre  went  on  presently. 
"  I  was  master  of  every  thing.  I  saw  all  the  world  again, 
and  my  gems,  and  my  books ;  and  I  thought  I  had  him  in 
my  power,  and  I  went  to  expose  him  Avhere — where  the  lights 
were  and  the  trees  ;  and  he  lied  again,  and  said  I  was  mad, 

and   they  dragged  me   away  to  prison Wickedness  is 

strong,  and  he  wears  armor." 

The  fierceness  had  flamed  np  again.  He  spoke  with  his 
former  intensity,  and  grasped  Komola's  arm  again. 

"  But  you  Avill  help  me  '?  He  has  been  folse  to  yon  too. 
He  has  another  wife,  and  she  has  children.  He  makes  her  be- 
lieve he  is  her  husband,  and  she  is  a  foolish,  helj^less  thing. 
I  will  show  you  where  she  lives." 

The  first  shock  that  passed  through  Roraola  was  visibly 
one  of  anger.  The  woman's  sense  of  indignity  was  inevitably 
foremost.  Baldassarre  instinctively  felt  her  in  sympathy 
W'ith  him. 

"  You  hate  him,"  he  went  on.  "  Is  it  not  true  ?  There  is 
no  love  between  you  ;  I  know  that.  I  know  women  can  hate ; 
and  you  have  proud  blood.  You  hate  falseness,  and  you  can 
love  revensre." 

Romola  sat  paralyzed  by  the  shock  of  conflicting  feelings. 
She  was  not  conscious  of  the  grasp  that  was  bruising  her  ten- 
der arm. 

"You  shall  contrive  it,"  said  Baldassarre,  presently,  in  an 
eager  whisper.  "  I  have  learned  by  heart  that  you  are  his 
rightful  wife.  You  are  a  noble  woman.  You  go  to  hear  the 
preacher  of  vengeance  ;  you  will  help  justice.  But  you  wall 
think  for  me.  My  mind  goes — every  thing  goes  sometimes 
—all  but  the  fire.  The  fire  is  God  :  it  is  justice  :  it  will  not 
die.  You  believe  that — is  it  not  true  ?  If  they  will  not 
hang  him  for  robbing  me,  yoii  will  take  away  his  armor — 
you  will  make  him  go  without  it,  and  I  Avill  stab  him.  I 
have  a  knife,  and  my  arm  is  still  strong  enough." 

He  put  his  hand  under  his  tunic,  and  reached  out  the  hid- 
Jan  knife,  feeling  the  edge  abstractedly,  as  if  he  needed  the 
sensation  to  keep  alive  his  ideas. 

It  seemed  to  Romola  as  if  every  fresh  hour  of  her  life  were 
to  become  more  difficult  than  the  last.  Her  judgment  was 
too  vigorous  and  rapid  for  her  to  fall  into  the  mistake  of 
using  futile,  deprecatory  words  to  a  man  in  Baldassarre's 
state  of  mind.  She  chose  not  to  answer  his  last  speech. 
She  would  win  time  for  his  excitement  to  allay  itself  by  ask- 


402  ROMOLA. 

iii<j^  soiiutirmt:  else  that  she  cared  to  know.  She  spoke  rath> 
cr  tii'iiiuluusiy — 

"  You  say  slie  is  foolish  and  1r'1j)1css — that  other  wife— 
and  believes  liiiii  to  be  her  real  husliand.  IVrhaps  he  is: 
peihajis  he  married  her  befoj-e  he  married  iin-.'' 

"1  can  not  tell,"  said  Jialdassarre,  ])ausiii!^-  in  that  action 
trf  feeling  the  knife,  and  looking  bewiUlered.  "I  can  remem- 
ber no  more.  I  only  know  whi-re  she  lives.  You  shall  see 
her.  I  will  take  you  ;  but  iKjt  now,"'  he  added,  hurriedly, 
"/ic  may  be  there.     The  night  is  coming  on." 

"  It  1:5  true,"  said  IJonioJa,  starting  u]>  with  a  sudden  con- 
sciousness that  the  sun  had  set,  and  the  hills  were  darkening; 
"but  you  will  come  and  t.ike  me — when?" 

"In  the  morning,"  said  Baldassarre,  dreaming  that  sho, 
too,  wanted  to  huiry  to  her  vengeance. 

"Come  to  me,  then,  A\  hei'e  you  came  to  me  to-day,  in  the 
cliurch.  1  will  be  there  at  ten;  and  if  you  are  not  there,  I 
will  go  again  towards  mid-day.     Can  you  remember?" 

"  JMid-day,"  said  Baldassarre — "  only  mid-day.  The  same 
place  and  mid-day.  And,  after  that,"  he  added,  rising,  and 
grasping  her  arm  again  with  his  left  liand,  while  he  hehl  the 
knife  in  his  right,  "  m'c  will  have  our  revenge.  Ih'  shall  feel 
the  sharj)  edge  of  justice.  Tiie  woild  is  against  me,  but  you 
uill  help  me." 

"I  would  help  you  in  other  ways,"  said  Uomola,  making 
a  first  timid  elfort  to  dispel  his  illusion  about  her.  "  I  fear 
you  are  in  want;  you  liave  to  labor  and  get  little.  I  should 
like  to  bring  you  comforts,  and  make  you  feel  again  that 
there  is  some  one  who  cares  for  you." 

"  Talk  no  more  al)out  that,"  said  lialdassarre,  fiercely.  "  I 
will  have  nothing  else.  Help  me  to  wring  one  drop  of  ven- 
geance on  this  side  of  the  grave.  I  liave  nothing  but  my 
knife.  It  is  sharp  ;  but  there  is  a  moment  after  the  thrust 
when  men  sec  the  face  of  death — and  it  shall  be  my  face 
that  he  will  see." 

He  loosed  his  hold,  and  sank  down  a<jfain  in  a  sittini;  pos- 
ture, liomola  lelt  lii'lpless;  she  must  dcler  all  intentions  till 
the  morrow. 

"  ]\Iid-day,  then,"  she  said,  in  a  distinct  voice. 

"Yes,"  Jie  answered,  with  an  air  of  exhaustion.  "  Go.  I 
will  rest  here." 

She  hastened  away.  Turning  at  tlie  last  spot  whence  he 
was  likely  to  be  in  sight,  she  saw  him  seated  still. 


KOilOL/u  403 


CHAPTER  LIV. 

THE  EVENING  AND  THE  MORNING. 

RoMOLA  had  a  purpose  in  her  mind  as  she  was  hastening 
C«.way^  a  purpose  which  had  been  growing  through  the  after- 
noon hours  Hke  a  side-stream,  risiua;  hi<>-lier  and  higher  along 
witli  the  main  current.  It  was  less  a  resolve  than  a  necessity 
of  her  feeling.  Heedless  of  the  darkening  streets,  and  not 
caring  to  call  for  Maso's  slow  escort,  she  hurried  across  the 
bridge  where  the  river  showed  itself  black  before  the  distant 
dying  red,  and  took  the  most  direct  way  to  the  Old  Palace, 
She  might  encounter  her  husband  there.  No  matter.  She 
could  not  weigh  probabilities  ;  she  must  discharge  her  heart. 
She  did  not  know  what  slie  passed  in  the  pillared  court  or  up 
the  wide  stairs  ;  she  only  knew  that  she  asked  an  usher  for 
the  Gonfaloniere,  giving  her  name,  and  begging  to  be  shown 
into  a  private  room. 

She  was  not  left  long"  alone  with  the  frescoed  figures  and 
the  newly-lit  tapers.  Soon  the  door  opened,  and  Bernardo 
del  Nero  entered,  still  carrying  his  white  head  erect  above  his 
silk  In  ceo. 

"  Romola,  my  child,  Avhat  is  this  ?"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of 
anxious  surprise,  as  he  closed  the'  door. 

She  had  uncovered  her  head  and  went  towards  him  Avith- 
out  speaking.  He  laid  his  hand  on  her  shoulder,  and  held 
her  a  little  away  from  him  that  he  might  see  her  better. 
Pier  face  was  haggard  from  fatigue  and  long  agitation,  her 
hair  had  rolled  down  in  disorder  :  but  there  was  an  excite- 
ment in  her  eyes  that  seemed  to  have  triumphed  over  the 
bodily  consciousness. 

"What  has  he  done?"  said  Bernardo,  abruptly.  "Tell  me 
every  thing,  child  ;  throw  away  pride.     I  am  your  father." 

"  It  is  not  about  myself — nothing  about  myself,"  said  Ro- 
mola, hastily.  "  Dearest  godfather,  it  is  about  you.  I  have 
heard  things — some  I  can  not  tell  you.  But  you  are  in  dan- 
ger in  the  palace  ;  you  are  in  danger  everywhere.  There  are 
fanatical  men  Avho  would  harm  you,  and — and  there  are  trai- 
tors.    Trust  nobody.     If  you  trust,  you  will  be  betrayed." 

Bernardo  smiled. 

"  Have  you  worked  yourself  up  into  this  agitation,  my 
poor  child,"  he  said,  raising  his  hand  to  her  head,  and  patting 


404  ROMOLA. 


it  ffi'iilly,*' to  toll  stich  ol<l  trutlis  as  tliat  to  an  old  man  likfc. 


me  r 


"Oil  no,  ni)  I  llu-y  are  not  old  truths  I  moan,"  said  Komo- 
la,  pressinif  lior  clasjtt'd  liands  ])aint"nlly  to^xothor,  as  it"  that 
action  would  liolp  lior  to  sui)i)ross  what  must  not  bo  told. 
"  They  are  fresh  things  that  1  know,  l)ut  can  not  tell.  Dear- 
est godfather,  you  know  I  am  not  foolish.  I  would  not  come 
to  you  without  reason.  Is  it  too  late  to  warn  you  against 
any  one,  cytry  one  who  seems  to  be  working  on  your  side? 
Is  it  too  late  to  say.  Go  to  your  villa  and  keep  away  in  the 
country  Avhon  these  three  more  days  of  ot?ico  are  over?  O 
(lod  !  perhaps  it  is  too  late  !  and  if  any  harm  come  to  you,  it 
will  be  as  if  I  had  done  it !" 

The  last  words  had  burst  from  Romola  involuntarily;  a 
long-stifled  fooling  had  found  spasmodic  utterance.  lUit  she 
liersolf  was  startled  and  ari"i'stcd. 

"  I  mean,"  she  added,  hesitatingly^  "  I  know  nothing  pos- 
itive.    I  only  know  wliat  Alls  mo  with  fears.'' 

"Poor  child  I"  said  iioi'nardo,  looking  at  her  silently,  with 
quiet  penetration  for  a  moment  or  two.  Then  he  said — "  Go, 
Komola,  go  home  and  rest.  These  fears  may  be  only  big  ugly 
shadows  of  something  very  little  and  harmless.  Even  trai- 
tors must  see  their  interest  in  betraying  ;  the  rats  will  run 
where  they  smell  the  cheese,  and  there  is  no  knowing  yet 
Avhich  way  the  scent  will  como.'' 

He  paused,  and  turned  away  his  eyes  from  her  with  an  aif 
of  abstraction,  till,  with  a  slow  shrug,  lie  added  : 

"  As  for  warnings,  they  are  oi'  no  use  to  me,  child.  I  en- 
tor  into  no  ])lots,  ])ut  I  never  forsake  mv  colors.  If  I  march 
abreast  with  obstinate  men,  who  will  rush  on  guns  and  j)ikes, 
I  must  share  the  consequences.  Let  us  say  no  more  about 
that.  I  have  not  many  years  left  at  the  l»ottom  of  my  sack 
for  them  to  rob  mo  of     (io,  child ;  go  home  and  rest." 

He  ])ut  his  hand  on  her  head  again  caressingly,  and  she 
could  not  help  clinging  to  his  arm,  and  pressing  her  brow 
against  his  shoulder.  Hi-r  godfather's  caress  scorned  the  last 
thing  that  was  Icl't  to  her  out  of  that  young  tilial  lifo,  which 
now  looked  so  ha])py  to  her  even  in  its  trou()lcs,  for  they 
were  troubles  untainted  by  any  thing  hateful. 

"  Is  silence  bi'st,  my  liijmola  V"  said  the  old  man. 

"  Yes,  now;  but  I  can  not  tell  whether  it  always  will  be," 
she  answered,  hesitatingly,  raising  her  head  with  an  appeal- 
ing look. 

"  Well  you  liave  a  father's  ear  while  I  am  above  ground" 
— he  lifted  tlu'  I)lark  drayiery  and  folded  it  round  her  head, 
adding  —  "and   a  father's  home;    remember  that."      Then, 


BOilOLA.  405 

opening  tlie  door,  he  said :  "  There,  hasten  away.     You  are 
like  a  biack  ghost ;  you  will  be  safe  enough." 

When  Komola  fell  asleep  that  night  she  slept  deep.  Ag- 
itation had  reached  its  limits  ;  she  must  gather  strength  be' 
fore  she  could  suifer  more  ;  and,  in  spite  of  rigid  habit,  she 
slept  on  for  beyond  sunrise. 

When  she  awoke,  it  was  to  the  sound  of  guns.  Piero  de' 
Medici,  with  thirteen  hundred  men  at  his  back,  was  before 
the  gate  that  looks  towards  Rome. 

So  much  Romola  learned  from  Maso,  witli  many  circum- 
stantial additions  ot  dubious  quality.  A  countryman  had 
come  in  and  alarmed  the  Signoria,  before  it  was  light,  else 
the  city  would  have  been  taken  by  surprise.  His  master  was 
not  in  the  house,  having  been  summoned  to  the  Palazzo  long 
ago.  She  sent  out  the  old  man  again,  that  he  might  gather 
news,  while  she  went  up  to  the  loggia  from  time  to  time  to 
try  and  discern  any  signs  of  the  dreaded  entrance  having 
been  made,  or  of  i-3  having  been  etlectively  repelled.  Maso 
brought  her  word  that  the  great  Piazza  was  full  of  armed 
men,  and  that  many  of  the  chief  citizens  suspected  as  friends 
of  the  Medici  had  been  summoned  to  the  palace  and  detained 
there.  Some  of  the  people  seemed  not  to  mind  whether  Piero 
got  in  or  not,  and  some  said  the  Signoria  itself  had  invited 
him  ;  but  hoAvever  that  might  be,  they  Avere  giving  him  an 
ugly  welcome ;  and  the  soldiers  from  Pisa  were  coming  against 
him. 

In  her  memory  of  those  morning  hours  there  were  not 
many  things  that  Komola  could  distinguish  as  actual  ex- 
ternal experiences  standing  markedly  out  above  the  tumul- 
tuous Avaves  of  retrospect  and  anticipation.  She  knew  that 
she  had  really  walked  to  the  Badia  by  the  appointed  time  in 
spite  of  street  alarms;  she  knew  that  she  had  waited  there 
in  vain.  And  the  scene  she  had  Avitnessed  Avhen  she  came 
out  of  the  church,  and  stood  Avatching  on  the  steps  Avhile  the 
doers  Avere  being  closed  behind  her  for  the  afternoon  inter- 
val, always  came  back  to  her  like  a  remembered  Avaking. 

Thei-e  Avas  a  change  in  the  faces  and  tones  of  the  people, 
armed  and  unarmed,  Avho  Avere  pausing  or  hurrying  along  the 
streets.  The  guns  Avere  firing  agaiii,  but  the  sound  only 
provoked  laughter.  She  soon  kncAV  the  cause  of  the  change. 
Fiero  de'  Medici  and  his  horsemen  had  turned  their  backs  on 
Florence,  and  Avere  galloping  as  fast  as  they  could  along  the 
Siena  road.  She  learned  this  from  a  substantial  shop-keep- 
ing Piaijnone,  Avho  had  not  yet  laid  doAvn  his  pike. 

'•  It  is  true,"  he  ended,  Avith  a  certain  bitterness  in  his 
emphasis,  "  Piero  is  gone  ;  but  there  are  those  left  behind 


406  liOMOLA. 

■\vliu  were  in  the  secret  oi"  lii.s  coming — we  all  know  that; 
and,  if  tlie  new  Signoria  does  its  duty,  we  shall  soon  know 
trho  they  are." 

The  word  darted  through  IJoniola  like  a  sharji  ppasm  ; 
but  the  evil  they  f'oreshailowed  was  not  yet  close  ujion  her, 
and  as  she  entered  her  home  again  her  most  ])rossing  anxiety 
was  the  ]>ossibility  that  she.  had  lost  sight  Ibr  a  long  while 
ot  Buldassarre. 


CHAPTER  LV. 

"WAITING. 

Tin-:  lengthening  sunny  days  went  on  without  bringing 
eitlier  what  IJomolamost  desired  or  what  she  most  dreaded. 
They  brought  no  sign  from  Ivddassarre,  and,  in  sjiite  of  spe- 
cial watch  on  the  ])art  ot"  the  (iovennnent,  no  revelation  of 
the  suspected  consj»iracv.  Ihit  they  brought  other  things 
whicli  touched  her  closely,  and  bridged  the  phantom-crowded 
space  of  anxiety  with  activi'  sympathy  in  inimMliate  trial. 
Thev  brouuht  the  sijreadiiiu:  Plague  an  1  the  Exconimunica- 
tion  of  Savonarola. 

Both  those  events  tended  to  arrest  lier  incipient  aliena- 
tion from  the  Frate,  and  to  livet  again  her  attachment  to  the 
man  who  hrtd  opened  to  her  the  new  lile  of  duty,  and  who 
seemed  now  to  be  worsted  in  the  tight  for  ])rinciple  against 
))rotligacy.  For  Romola  could  not  carry  iroin  day  to  day 
into  the  abodes  of  pestilence  and  misery  the  sublime  excite- 
ment of  a  gladness  that,  sinc3  such  anguish  existed,  slie  too 
existed  to  make  some  of  the  anguish  less  bitter,  without  re- 
membering that  she  owed  this  transcendent  moral  life  to 
Fra  (iirolamo.  She  could  not  witness  the  silencing  and  ex- 
communication of  a  man  whose  distinction  from  the  great 
mass  of  the  clergy  lay,  not  in  any  heretical  belief,  not  in  his 
su])erstitions,  but  in  the  energy  witli  which  he  sought  to 
make  the  Cliristian  life  a  reality,  without  feeling  herself 
tlrawn  strf)ngly  to  his  side. 

It  was  i'ar  on  in  the  hot  days  olJune  before  the  Excom 
munication,  ibr  some  weeks  ariived  from  Pome,  was  solemn 
ly  p»il)lished  in  the  Duomo.  liomola  went  to  witness  the 
scene,  that  the  resistance  it  inspired  miglit  in\igorate  that 
8ymj>atliy  with  Savonarola  which  was  one  source  of  her 
strength,  it  was  in  memorable  contrast  with  tlie  scene  she 
had  been  accnstnmcd  to  witness  there.  Instead  of  upturned 
citizen-faces  tilling  the  vast  area  under  the  morning  light. 


ROMOLA.  407 

the  youngest  rising  amphitheatre-Avise  towards  the  walls, 
and  making  a  garland  of  hope  around  the  memories  of  age 
— instead  ot  the  mighty  voice  thrilling  all  hearts  with  the 
sense  of  great  things,  visible  and  invisible,  to  be  struggled  for 
— there  were  the  bare  walls  at  evening  made  more  sombre 
bv  the  glimmer  of  tapers  ;  there  was  the  black  and  gray 
flock  of  monks  and  secular  clergy,  with  bent,  unexpectant 
faces;  there  was  the  occasional  tinkling  of  little  bells  in  the 
pauses  of  a  monotonous  voice  reading  a  sentence  which  had 
already  been  long  hanging  up  in  the  churches  ;  and  at  last 
there  was  the  extinction  of  tapers,  and  the  slow,  shufHing 
tread  of  monkish  feet  departing  in  the  dim  silence. 

Romola's  ardor  on  the  side  of  the  Frate  was  doubly 
strengthened  liy  the  gleeful  triumph  she  saw  in  hard  and 
coarse  faces,  and  by  the  fear-stricken  confusion  in  the  faces 
and  speech  of  many  among  his  strongly  attached  friends. 
Tlie  question  where  the  <luty  of  obedience  ends,  and  the  duty 
of  resistance  begins,  could  in  no  case  be  an  easy  one  ;  but  it 
was  made  overwhelmingly  difficult  by  the  belief  that  the 
Church  was — ^not  a  compromise  of  parties  to  secure  a  more 
or  less  approximate  justice  m  the  appropriation  of  funds,  but 
— a  living  organism  instinct  with  Divine  power  to  bless  and 
to  curse.  To  most  of  the  pious  Florentines,  who  had  hither- 
to felt  no  doubt  in  their  adherence  to  the  Frate,  that  belie f* 
was  not  an  embraced  opinion;  it  was  an  inalienable  impres- 
sion, like  the  concavity  of  the  blue  firmament;  and  the  bold- 
ness of  Savonarola's  written  arguments  that  the  Excommu- 
nication was  unjust,  and  that,  being  unjust,  it  was  not  valid, 
only  made  them  tremble  the  more,  as  a  defiance  cast  at  a 
mystic  image,  against  Avhose  subtle,  immeasurable  power 
there  was  neither  weapon  nor  defense. 

But  Romola,  whose  mind  had  not  been  allowed  to  draw 
its  early  nourishment  from  the  traditional  associations  of  the 
Christian  community,  in  which  her  father  had  lived  a  life 
apart,  felt  her  relation  to  the  Church  only  through  Savona- 
rola ;  his  moral  force  had  been  the  only  authority  to  Avhicli 
she  had  bowed  ;  and  in  his  excommunication  she  only  saw  the 
menace  of  hostile  vice  ;  on  one  side  she  saw  a  man  whose  life 
was  devoted  to  the  ends  of  public  virtue  and  spiritual  purity, 
and  on  the  other  the  assault  of  alarmed  selfishness,  headed 
by  a  lustful,  greedy,  lying,  and  murderous  old  man,  onc& 
called  Rodrigo  Borgia,  and  now  lifted  to  the  pinnacle  of  in- 
famy  as  Pope  Alexander  the  Sixth.  Tlie  finer  shades  of  fact 
which  soften  the  edge  of  such  antitheses  are  not  apt  to  be  seen 
except  by  neutrals,  who  are  not  distressed  to  discern  some  fol- 
ly in  martyrs  and  some  judiciousness  in  tho  men  who  burn 


408  ROMOLA. 

tla-ni.  l>ut  Romola  requiivd  n  strength  zli.it  neutrality  could 
not  give  ;  and  this  Excommunication,  which  simj)litied  and 
cnnolWcd  tlie  resistant  position  of  Savonarola  by  bringing 
into  prominence  its  wider  relations,  seemed  to  come  to  her 
like  a  rescue  irom  the  threatening  isolation  of  criticism  and 
doubt.  The  Frate  was  now  withdrawn  from  that  smaller 
antagonism  against  Florentine  enemies  into  wlii;-h  he  contiii- 
ually  fell  in  the  unchecked  excitement  oftlie  pulpit,  and  j)rc- 
sented  himself  simply  as  appealing  to  the  Christian  world 
against  a  vicious  exercise  of  ecclesiastical  power.  He  was  a 
standard-bearer  leaping  into  the  breach.  Life  never  seems  so 
clear  and  easy  as  when  the  heart  is  beating  faster  at  the  sight 
of  some  generous,  self-risking  deed.  We  feel  no  doubt  then 
Avhat  is  the  highest  ju'ize  the  soul  can  Avin  ;  we  almost  be- 
lieve in  oui"  own  power  to  attain  it.  And  by  a  new  eui'ivni; 
of  such  enthusiasm  Romola  was  helped  through  these  diffi- 
cult summer  days. 

tSlie  had  ventured  on  no  words  to  Tito  that  would  ajjjirise 
liim  of  her  late  interview  with  Jialdassarre,and  the  revelation 
lie  had  made  to  her.  AVhat  would  such  agitating,  difficult 
words  win  fi'om  him?  No  admission  of  the  truth  ;  nothing, 
probably, but  a  cool  sarcasm  about  her  sympathy  with  his  as- 
Kassin.  Baldassarre  was  evidently  helpless:  the  thing  to  be 
feared  was,  not  that  he  should  injure  Tito,  but  that  Tito, 
coming  upon  his  traces,  should  carry  out  some  new  scheme 
for  riddinir  himself  of  the  injured  man  who  was  a  haunting 
dread  to  him.  Komola  felt  that  she  could  do  nothing  decis 
ive  U!>til  she  had  seen  IJaldassarre  again,  and  learned  the  full 
truth  about  that  "  other  wife  " — learned  whether  she  wi-ie  the 
•wife  to  whom  Tito  was  first  bound. 

The  possibilitii'S  about  that  other  wife,  which  involved  the 
worst  wound  to  her  hereditary  ])ride,  mingled  themselves  as 
a  newly  embitteriiig  suspicion  with  the  earliest  memories  of 
her  illusory  love,  eating  away  the  lingering  associations  of 
temlerness  with  the  ]»ast  image  of  her  husband  ;  and  her  ir- 
resistible Inlief  in  the  rest  of  IJaldassarre's  revelation  made 
her  shrink  from  Tito  with  a  horror  which  would  perhaj)shave 
nrged  some  ]»assionate  s]»ei'(h  in  spite  of  herself  if  he  hail  not 
been  more  than  usually  absent  from  home.  J^ike  many  of  the 
wealthier  citizens  in  that  time  of  pestilence,  he  spent  the  in- 
tervals of  business  chiefly  in  the  country  :  the  agreeable  Mele- 
ma  was  welcome  at  many  villas;  and  since  Komola  had  re- 
fuseil  to  leave  the  city,  he  had  no  need  to  j)rovide  a  country 
residence  of  his  own. 

Ibit  at  last,  in  the  later  days  of  July,  the  alleviation  of 
thosw  ])ublic  troubles   A'hich  bad  absorbed  her  activity  nnd 


ROMOLA.  409 

much  of  her  thouglit,  leftRoraola  to  a  less  counteracted  sense 
of  her  personal  lot.  The  Plague  had  almost  disappeared,  and 
the  position  of  Savonarola  was  made  more  hopeful  by  a  fa- 
vorable magistracy,  who  were  writing  urgent  vindicatory  let- 
ters to  Rome  on  his  belialf,  entreating  the  withdrawal  of  the 
Excommunication. 

Romola's  healthy  and  vigorous  frame  was  undergoing  the 
reaction  of  languor  inevitable  after  continuous  excitement 
and  over-exertion ;  but  her  mental  restlessness  would  not  al- 
low her  to  remain  at  home  without  peremptory  occupation, 
except  during  the  sultry  hours.  In  the  cool  of  the  morning 
and  evening  she  walked  out  constantly,  varying  her  direction, 
as  much  as  possible,  w-ith  the  vague  hope  that  if  Baldassarre 
were  still  alive  she  might  encounter  him.  Perhaps  some  ill- 
ness had  brought  a  new  paralysis  of  memory,  and  he  had  for- 
gotten where  she  lived — forgotten  even  her  existence.  That 
was  her  most  sanguine  explanation  of  his  non-appearance. 
The  explanation  she  felt  to  be  most  probable  was,  that  he  had 
died  of  the  Plague. 


CHAPTER  LYI. 

THE     O  T  II  E  K     WIFE, 


The  morning  warmth  was  already  beginning  to  be  rather 
oppressive  to  Romola,  wdien,  after  a  walk  along  by  the  Avails 
on  her  way  from  San  Marco,  she  turned  towards  the  intersect- 
incc  streets  ao;ain  at  the  gate  of  Santa  Croce. 

The  Borgo  La  Croce  was  so  still  that  she  listened  to  her 
own  footsteps  on  the  pavement  in  the  sunny  silence,  until,  on 
approaching  a  bend  in  the  street,  she  saw,  a  few  yards  before 
her,  a  little  child  not  more  than  three  years  old,  with  no  otlier 
clothing  than  his  Avhite  shirt,  pause  from  a  waddling  I'un  and 
look  around  him.  In  the  first  moment  of  coming  nearer  she 
could  only  see  his  back — a  boy's  back,  square  and  sturdy,  Avith 
a  cloud  of  reddish-brown  curls  above  it ;  but  in  the  next  he 
turned  towards  her,  and  she  could  see  his  dark  eyes  Avide  Avith 
tears,  and  his  lower  lip  pushed  up  and  trembling,  Avhile  his 
fat  brown  fists  clutched  his  shirt  lielplessly.  The  glimpse  of 
a  tall  black  figure  sending  a  shadow  over  him  brought  his  be- 
Avildered  fear  to  a  climax,  and  a  loud  crying  sob  sent  the  big 
tears  rolling. 

Romola,  Avith  the  ready  maternal  instinct  Avhich  Avas  one- 
hidden  source  of  her  passionate  tenderness,  instantly  uncove?-- 
ed  her  head,  and,  stooping  down  on  the  pavement,  put  her 

IS 


410 


UO.MOLA. 


arms  round  liiin,  and  licr  clici-k  against  his,  while  she  Ppuko 
to  him  in  carcssinu;  tones.  At  iirst  liis  sobs  wore  only  the 
louder,  hut  he  made  no  ellbrt  to  get  away,  and  jiresently  tho 
oiitl)urst  erased  with  that  strange  ahruittncss  whieh  belong? 
to  ehildish  joys  and  grids:  hislaee  lost  its  ilistc^tion,  and  was 
fixed  in  an  open-moutheil  gaze  at  llomola. 

"You  have  lost  yoursell',  little  one,"  she  said,  kissing  him. 
"  Never  mind  !  we  will  lind  the  house  again.  I'erhaps  mam- 
ma will  meet  us." 

She  divined  that  lie  had  made  his  escape  at  a  moment 
when  the  motlu'r''s  eyes  were  turned  away  from  him,  and 
thought  it  liki'ly  that  he  Avould  soon  be  ibllowed. 

"Oh,  what  a  heavy,  lieavy  boy!"  she  said,  trying  to  lift 
liim.  "  I  can  not  carry  you.  Come,  then,  you  must  toJdlii 
back  by  my  side."  , 


-    .It/- 


The  parted  lips  remained  motionless  in  awed  silence,  and 
one  brown  list  still  clutched  the  shirt  M"ith  as  much  tenacity 
jjsever;  but  the  other  yielded  itself  quite  willingly  to  the 
wonderful  white  hand,  strong  but  soft. 

"  Vou  Ikiiu'  :i  mamma?"  said  Itomola,  as  they  set  out, 
looking  down  at  the  boy  with  a  certain  yearning,      liut  hj 


BOxMOLA.  411 

■was  mute.  A  girl  under  those  circumstances  might  perhaps 
have  cliirped  abundantly ;  not  so  this  square-shouldered  lit- 
tle man  with  the  big  cloud  of  curls. 

He  was  awake  to  the  first  sign  of  his  whereabout,  liow- 
ever.  At  the  turning  by  the  front  of  San  Ambrogio  he  drag- 
ged Romola  towards  it,  looking  up  at  her. 

"Ah,  that  is  the  way  home,  is  it?"  she  said,  smiling  at 
him.  He  only  thrust  his  head  forward  and  pulled,  as  an 
admonition  that  they  should  go  foster. 

There  was  still  another  turning  that  he  had  a  decided 
opmion  about,  and  then  Romola  found  herself  in  a  short  street 
leading  to  open  garden  ground.  It  was  in  front  of  a  house 
at  the  end  of  this  street  that  the  little  fellow  paused,  pulling 
her  towards  some  stone  stairs.  He  had  evidently  no  wish 
for  her  to  loose  his  hand,  and  she  would  not  have  been  wil- 
ling to  leave  him  without  being  sure  that  she  was  delivering 
him  to  his  friends.  They  mounted  the  stairs,  seeing  but 
dimly  in  that  sudden  withdrawal  from  the  sunligiit,  till,  at 
the  final  landing-place,  an  extra  stream  of  light  came  from 
an  open  doorway.  Passing  through  a  small  lobby  they  came 
to  another  open  dooi",  and  there  Romola  paused.  Her  ap- 
proach had  not  been  heard. 

On  a  low  chair  at  the  farther  end  of  the  room,  opposite 
the  light,  sat  Tessa,  with  one  hand  on  the  edge  of  the  cradle, 
and  her  head  hanging  a  little  on  one  side,  fast  asleep.  Near 
one  of  the  windows,  with  her  back  turned  towards  the  door, 
sat  IMonna  Lisa  at  her  work  of  preparing  salad,  in  deaf  un- 
consciousness. There  was  only  an  instant  for  Romola's  eyes 
to  take  in  that  still  scene;  for  Lillo  snatched  his  hand  away 
from  her  and  ran  up  to  his  mother's  side,  not  making  any  di- 
rect eflx)rt  to  wake  her,  but  only  leaning  his  head  back  against 
her  arm,  and  surveying  Romola  seriously  from  that  distance. 

As  Lillo  pushed  against  her  ^essa  opened  her  eyes,  and 
iooked  up  in  bewilderment ;  but  her  glance  had  no  sooner 
rested  on  the  figure  at  the  opposite  doorway  than  she  start- 
ed up,  blushed  deeplj^  and  began  to  tremble  a  little,  neither 
S'jeaking  nor  movino;  forward. 

"Ah!  we  have  seen  each  other  before,"  said  Romola, 
smiling,  and  coming  forward.  "I  am  glad  it  was  your  little 
boy.  He  was  crying  in  the  street ;  I  supj)ose  he  had  run 
away.  So  Ave  walked  together  a  little  way,  and  then  he 
knew  where  he  was,  and  bi-ought  me  here.  But  you  had  not 
missed  him?  Tliat  is  well,  else  you  would  have  been  fright- 
ened." 

The  shock  of  finding  that  Lillo  had  run  away  overcame 
every  other  I'celing  in  Tessa  fur  the  moment.     Her  color  went 


412  KOitULA. 

ai^alii  aii<],  scizijii^  LiIlo*s  arm,  she  ran  with  Iiiiii  to  Moiina 
Lisa,  sayiiiLT,  with  a  halt-soh,  hnul  in  thi'  <.»lil  woniairs  car — 

"  Oh,  Lisa,  yuu  are  wickiil  I  Why  %\  ill  yt>vi  stand  with 
your  back  to  tiic  door V  Lillo  ran  away  ever  so  far  into  tho 
fcitrci't." 

"Holy  Mother  !"  said  Monna  Lisa,  in  lur  iiuvk,  tliick  tone, 

letting  tlie  spoon  fall  from  her  hands.     "Where  were  you^ 

then  '{     I  thoui^ht  you  were  there,  and  had  your  eye  on  him.*' 

'       "Hut  you  ktuno  I  jjo  to  sleep  when  I   am   rocking,"  said 

Tessa,  in  pettish  remonstrance. 

"Well,  well,  we  must  keep  tho  outer  door  sliut,  or  else  tie 
him  uj),''  sai»l  ^lonna  Lisa,  "for  he'll  he  as  cunning  as  Satan 
before  long,  and  that's  the  holy  truth,  iiut  how  came  he 
back,  thenV" 

This  (piestion  recalled  Tessa  to  the  consciousness  of  Ko- 
niola's  jtresencc.  Without  answering,  she  turned  towards 
her,  blushing  ami  tiniid  again,  and  Monna  Lisa's  eyes  followed 
her  movement.  The  old  Avoman  made  a  low  reverence,  and 
said, 

"  Doubtless  the  most  noble  lady  brought  him  Ijack.'' 
Tlien  advancing  a  little  nearer  to  Komola,she  added,  "It's 
my  shame  lor  him  to  have  been  found  with  oidy  his  shirt  on  ; 
but  he  kicked,  and  wouldn't  have  his  other  clothes  on  this 
morning,  and  the  mother,  ])oor  thing  !  m  ill  never  hear  of  his 
being  beaten.  IJut  what's  an  old  woman  to  do  without  a 
stick  when  the  lad's  legs  get  so  strong?  Let  your  nobleness 
look  at  his  legs." 

Lillo,  conscious  that  his  legs  were  in  question,  pulled  his 
shirt  up  a  little  highei",  and  looked  down  at  their  olive  round- 
ness with  a  dispassionate  and  curitius  air.  IJomola  laughed, 
and  stooped  to  give  him  a  caressing  shake  and  a  kiss,  and 
this  action  helped  the  reassurance  that  Tessa  had  already 
jrathere(l  iVom  Monna  Usa's  address  to  Koinola.  Foi'  when 
Kaldo  had  been  told  about  the  adventure  at  the  Carnival, 
and  Tessa  had  asked  him  m  ho  the  heavenly  lady  that  had 
come  just  Avhen  she  Avas  Avanttvl,  and  had  vanished  so  soon, 
Avas  likely  to  be — whether  she  couhl  l)e  the  Holy  ^ladomia 
herself? — ho  ha<l  answ^/red,  "  Not  exactly,  my  Tessa;  only 
one  of  the  saints,"  and  had  not  chosen  to  say  more.  So  that 
in  the  dream-like  cornbimuioii  ot"  small  experience  which 
made  up  Tessa's  thought,  llomola  had  remaineil  confusedly 
associated  Avith  the  pictures  in  the  churches,  and  when  she 
reappeared  the  grateful  remembrance  of  her  protection  was 
sli'jhtly  tinctured  with  religions  awe — not  dee j»l A',  for  Tessa's 
dread  Avas  chiefly  of  ugly  and  evil  beings.  It  seemeil  unlike- 
ly that  good  beings  AVould  be  angry  and  punish   her,  as   ij 


ROMOLA.  413 

was  the  nature  of  Nofri  and  the  devil  to  do.  And  now  that 
Monna  Lisa  had  spoken  freely  about  Lillo's  legs,  and  Romola 
had  laughed,  Tessa  Avas  more  at  her  ease. 

"  Niuna's  in  the  cradle,"  she  said.     "  She's  pretty  too." 

liomola  went  to  look  at  the  sleeping  Ninna,  and  Monna 
Lisa,  one  of  the  exceptionally  meek  deaf,  who  never  expect  to 
be  spoken  to,  returned  to  her  salad. 

"  Ah  !  she  is  waking  :  she  has  opened  her  blue  eyes,"  said 
Romola.  "  You  must  take  her  up,  and  I  will  sit  down  in 
this  chair — may  I  ? — and  nunse  Lillo.     Come,  Lillo  !" 

She  sat  down  in  Tito's  chair,  and  put  out  her  arms  towards 
the  lad,  whose  eyes  had  followed  her.  He  hesitated,  and, 
pointing  his  small  finger  at  lier  with  a  half-puzzled,  half-an- 
gry feeling,  said,  "  That'.s  Babbo's  chair,"  not  seeing  his  way 
out  of  the  difficulty  if  Babbo  came  and  found  Romola  in  hi^ 
place. 

"  But  Babbf)  is  not  here,  and  I  shall  go  soon.  Come,  let 
me  nurse  you  as  he  does,"  said  Romola,  wondering  to  herself 
for  the  first  time  what  sort  of  Babbo  he  was  whose  wife  was 
dressed  in  contadina  fashion,  but  had  a  certain  daintiness 
about  her  person  that  indicated  idleness  and  plenty.  Lillo 
consented  to  be  i.o'r.ed  up,  and,  finding  the  lap  exceedingly 
comfortable,  began  to  explore  her  dress  and  hands,  to  see  if 
there  were  any  ornaments  besides  her  rosary. 

Tessa,  who  had  liitherto  been  occupied^  in  coaxing  Ninna 
out  of  Jier  waking  peevishness,  now  sat  down  in  her  low 
chair,  near  Romola's  knee,  arranging  Ninna's  tiny  person  to 
advantage,  jealous  that  the  strange  lady  too  seemed  to  no- 
tice the  boy  most,  as  Naldo  did. 

"  Lillo  was  going  to  be  angry  with  me  because  I  sat  in 
Babbo's  chair,"  said  Romola,  as  she  bent  forward  to  kiss  Nin- 
Iia's  little  foot.     '•  Will  he  come  soon  and  want  it?" 

"  Ah  no  !"  said  Tessa;  "  you  can  sit  in  it  a  long  while.  I 
shall  bci  sorry  when  you  go.  When  you  first  came  to  take 
care  of  me  at  the  carnival,  I  thought  it  was  wonderful ;  you 
came  and  went  away  again  so  fast.  And  Naldo  said,  per- 
haps you  Avere  a  saint,  and  that  made  me  tremble  a  little; 
though  the  saints  are  very  good,  I  know  ;  and  you  were  good 
to  me,  and  now  you  have  taken  care  of  Lillo.  Perhaps  you 
will  always  come  and  take  care  of  me.  That  was  how  Naldo 
did  a  long  while  ago;  he  came  and  took  care  of  me  when  I 
was  frightened,  one  San  Giovanni.  I  couldn't  think  where 
he  came  from — he  Avas  so  beautiful  and  good.  And  so  are 
you,"  ended  Tessa,  looking  up  at  Romola  Avith  devout  admi- 
ration. 

"  Naldo  is  your  husband.     His  eyes  aie  like  Lillo's,"  said 


4  1  4  K05.0[.A. 

Uoinola,  looking  at  iho  boy's  darkly-poncillcd  eyebrows,  un. 
usual  at  his  ane.  She  did  not  speak  interrogatively,  but  witii 
a  (luiet  eertainty  of  inlcrence  wliieh  was  necessarily  niyste* 
rious  to  Tessa. 

"Ah  !  you  know  liim  !"  she  said,  pausing  a  little  in  won- 
der. "  Perhaps  you  know  Nofri  and  I'eretula,  and  our  house 
on  the  hill,  and  every  thing.  Yes,  like  Lillo's  ;  but  not  his 
.hair.  Ilis  hair  is  dark  and  long — "  slie  went  on,  getting 
iiratlier  exeited.     "  Ah  !  if  you  know  it,  ecrop'' 

She  had  i)Ut  her  hand  to  a  thin  red  silk  eord  that  hung 
round  her  neek,  and  drew  from  her  bosom  the  tiny  old  parch- 
ment breve,  the  horn  of  red  coral,  and  a  long  dark  curl  care- 
fully tied  at  one  end  and  suspended  with  those  mystic  treas- 
ures. She  held  them  towanls  liomola,  away  from  Xinna's 
sjnatching  hand. 

"  It  is  a  fresh  one.  I  cut  it  lately.  See  how  bright  it  is  !" 
she  said,  laving  it  against  the  white  background  of  lwomola''s 
fingers.  "They  get  dim,  and  then  he  k-ts  me  cut  another 
when  his  hair  is  grown;  and  1  put  it  with  the  breve,  because 
sometimes  he  is  away  a  long  while,  and  then  it  helps  to  take 
care  of  me." 

A  slight  shiver  passed  through  Romola  as  tlie  curl  was 
laid  across  her  fingers.  At  Tessa's  first  mention  of  her  hu*- 
band  as  having  come  mysteriously  she  knew  not  whence,  a 
possil)ility  had  risen  before  Komola  that  made  her  heart  beat 
faster ;  for  to  one  who  is  anxiously  in  search  of  a  certain 
object,  the  faintest  suggestions  have  a  ])eculiar  significance. 
And  when  the  curl  was  lield  towards  her,  it  seenu'd  i"or  an  in- 
stant like  a  mocking  phantasm  (.»f  the  lock  she  herself  had  cut 
to  wind  with  one  of  her  own  five  years  ago.  But  she  pre- 
served her  outward  calmness,  bent  not  oidy  on  knowing  the 
truth,  but  also  on  coming  to  that  knowledge  in  a  way  that 
wotdd  not  ))ain  this  poor,  trusting,  ignorant  thing,  Avith  the 
child's  mind  in  the  woman's  body.  "  Foolish  and  helpless:" 
yes;  so  far  she  corresponded  to  IJnldassarre's  aecount. 

"It  is  a  beautiful  curl,"  she  said,  resisting  the  impulse  to 
withdraw  her  hand.  "Lillo's  curls  will  l)e  like  it,  ])erliapS; 
for  his  cheek,  too,  is  dark.  And  you  never  know  where  youi 
husband  goes  to  when  he  leaves  you  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Tessa,  putting  baek  her  treasures  out  of  the 
children's  way.  "But  I  know  Messer  Saint  .Michael  takes 
care  of  liiin,  for  he  gave  hijn  a  beautiful  coat,  all  made  of  lit- 
tle chains  ;  and  if  he  puts  that  on,  nobody  can  kill  him.  And. 
j)erhaps  if—"  Tessa  hesitated  a  little,  uii<ler  a  recurrence  of 
that  original  dreamy  wonder  about  IJomoia  which  had  been 
expelled  by  chatting  contact  -  -  "  if  you  'i')cre  li   saint,  you 


KOMOLA.  415 

would  take  care  of  liim,  too,  because  you  have  taken  care  of 
me  and  Lillo." 

An  agitatef'  ^ush  came  over  Romola's  face  in  the  first  mo- 
ment of  certainty,  but  she  had  bent  her  cheek  against  Lillo's 
Head.  The  feeling  that  leaped  out  in  that  flush  was  some- 
thing like  exultation  at  the  thought  that  the  wife's  burden 
might  be  about  to  slip  from  her  overladen  shoulders ;  that 
this  little  ignorant  creature  might  prove  to  be  Tito's  lawful 
wife.  A  strange  exultation  for  a  proud  and  high-born  wom- 
an to  have  been  brought  to  !  But  it  seemed  to  Romola  as  if 
that  were  the  only  issue  that  would  make  duty  any  thing 
else  for  her  than  an  insoluble  problem.  Yet  she  was  not 
deaf  to  Tessa's  last  appealing  words ;  she  raised  her  head, 
and  said,  in  her  clearest  tones, 

"  I  Avill  always  take  care  of  you,  if  I  see  you  need  me. 
But  that  beautiful  coat  ?  your  husband  did  not  wear  it  when 
you  Avere  first  married  ?  Perhaps  he  used  not  to  be  so  long 
away  from  you  then  ?" 

"  Ah,  yes  !  he  was.  Much  —  much  longer.  So  long,  I 
thought  he  would  never  come  back.  I  used  to  cry.  Oh  me  ! 
I  was  beaten  then  ;  a  long,  long  while  ago  at  Peretola,  where 
we  had  the  goats  and  mules." 

"  And  how  long  had  you  been  married  before  your  hus- 
band had  that  chain-coat  ?"  said  Romola,  her  heart  beating 
faster  and  faster, 

Tessa  looked  meditative,  and  began  to  count  on  her  fingers, 
and  Romola  watched  the  fingers  as  if  they  would  tell  the  se- 
cret of  her  destiny. 

"The  chestnuts  were  ripe  when  we  Avere  married,"  said 
Tessa,  marking  off  her  thumb  and  fingers  again  as  she  spoke  ; 
"  and  then  again  they  Avere  ripe  at  Peretola  before  he  came 
back,  and  then  again  after  that,  on  the  hill.  And  soon  the  sol- 
diers came  and  we  heard  the  trumpets,  and  then  Naldo  had 
the  coat." 

"  You  had  been  married  more  than  two  years.  In  Avhich 
church  were  you  married  ?"  said  Romola,  too  entirely  ab- 
sorbed by  one  thought  to  put  any  question  that  Avas  less  di- 
rect. Perha])s  before  the  next  morning  she  might  go  to  her 
godfather  and  say  that  she  Avas  not  Tito  Melema's  laAviul  wife 
■ — that  the  a^ows  Avhich  had  bound  her  to  strive  after  an  im- 
possible union  had  been  made  A'oid  beforehand. 

Tessa  gave  a  slight  start  at  Romola's  new  tone  of  inquiry, 
and  looked  up  at  her  Avith  a  hesitating  expression.  Hitherto 
she  had  prattled  on  without  consciousness  that  she  was  mat 
infr  revelations,  anv  more  than  Avlien  she  said  old  things  ovei 
and  over  asrain  to  Monna  Lisa, 

^  0 


41. J  liOMOLA. 


"  N;il(l()  said  I   was  iiovor  to  \v\[  al)Out  tliat,"  sl:o  said, 
tl  iiibtfiilly.     "Do  you  think  ho  would  not  be  aiiu^ry  if  I  loiii 


voii  ?" 


"  It  is  right  that  you  should  tell  ine.  Tell  me  every  thing," 
said  lioniola,  looking  at  her  with  mild  autliority. 

It  the  impression  from  Xuldo's  command  liad  been  mucli 
more  recent  than  it  was,  the  constraining  eil'ect  of  Komola's 
mysterious  authority  would  have  overcome  it.  JJut  the  sens(i 
tliat  she  was  telling  what  she  had  never  told  before  made  her 
begin  with  a  IowcixmI  voice. 

"It  was  not  in  a  church — it  Avas  at  the  Nativita,  wlnii  there 
was  tlie  fair,  and  all  the  people  went  overnight  to  see  the  Ma- 
doinia  in  the  Nunziata,  and  my  mother  was  ill  and  couldn't 
go,  and  I  took  the  bunch  of  cocoons  for  her;  and  then  he  came 
to  me  in  the  church,  and  I  heard  him  say,  '  Tessa  !'  I  knew 
him  because  he  had  taken  care  of  me  at  the  !San  Giovanni, 
and  then  we  went  into  the  Pia/za  where  the  fair  was,  and  I 
had  some  berlifu/ozzl,  for  I  was  hungry,  and  lie  was  very  good 
to  me;  and  at  the  end  of  the  Piazza  there  v\'as  a  holy  lather 
and  an  altar  like  wdiat  they  liave  at  the  processions  outside 
the  churches.  So  he  married  us,  and  then  Naldo  took  me 
back  into  the  church  and  left  me:  and  I  went  home,  and  my 
mother  died,  and  Xofii  began  to  beat  me  more,  and  Naldo 
never  came  back.  .Vnd  I  used  to  cry,  aiul  once  at  the  Carni- 
val I  saw  him  and  followed  him,  and  he  was  angry,  and  said 
Jie  would  come  some  time,  I  must  wait.  So  I  went  and  wait- 
ed ;  but  oh  !  it  was  a  long  while  before  lie  came ;  but  he  would 
liave  come  if  lu^  could,  for  he  was  good  ;  and  then  lie  took  mo 
away,  because  I  cried  and  said  I  could  not  bear  to  stay  with 
Nofri.  And  oh!  I  was  so  glad,  and  since  then  I  h.ive  been 
always  ha])))y,  for  I  don't  mind  about  the  goats  and  mules, 
because  1  have  Lillo  and  Ninna  now;  and  Naldo  is  never 
angry,  only  I  think  he  doesn't  love  Ninna  so  well  as  Lillo,  and 
ahe  w  pretty." 

Quite  forgetting  tliat  she  had  tlK)uglit  her  speech  rather 
monieiitous  at  the  beginning,  Tessa  lell  to  devouring  Ninna 
witli  kisses,  while  Komola  sat  in  silence  with  absent  eyes.  It 
was  inevitable  that  in  this  moment  she  should  thin'c  of  the 
three  beings  before  her  chiefly  in  their  relation  to  her  own 
lot,  and  she  was  feeling  the  cliill  oi' disappointment  that  her 
difficulties  were  not  to  be  solved  by  external  law.  She  had 
relaxed  her  hold  of  Lillo,  and  was  leaning  her  cheek  against 
her  hand,  seeiii'^  nothing  of  the  scene  arouiiil  her.  Lillo  was 
quick  in  perceivinix  a  change  that  was  not  agreeable  to  him; 
he  had  not  vd  made  any  retui'ii  to  her  (  aresses,  but  he  ob- 
jected to  their  withdrawal,  and  ]»utting  up  both  his  browu 


EOMOLA.  41? 

arms  to  pull  her  head  towards  him,  he  said,  "  Play  with  me 
again !" 

Romola,  roused  from  her  self-absorption,  clasped  the  lad 
anew,  and  looked  from  him  to  Tessa,  who  had  now  paused 
from  her  shower  of  kisses,  and  seemed  to  ha^e  returned  to 
the  more  placid  delight  of  contemphiting  the  heavenly  lady's 
face.  That  face  was  undergoing  a  subtle  chano;e,  like  the 
gradual  oncoming  of  a  warmer,  softer  light.  Presentl}^  Ro- 
mola took  her  scissors  from  her  scarsella,  and  cut  oft'  one  of  her 
long  Avavy  locks,  while  the  three  pair  of  wide  eyes  followed 
her  movements  with  kitten-like  observation. 

"  I  must  go  away  from  you  now,"  she  said,  "  but  I  will  leave 
this  lock  of  hair  that  it  may  remind  you  of  me,  because  if  you 
are  ever  in  trouble  you  can  think  tliat  perha])s  God  will  send 
me  to  take  care  of  you  again.  I  can  not  tell  you  where  to 
find  me,  but  if  I  ever  know  that  you  want  me  I  M'ill  come  to 
you.     Addio !" 

She  had  set  down  Lillo  hurriedly,  and  held  out  her  hand 
to  Tessa,  who  kissed  it  with  a  mixture  of  awe  and  sorrow  at 
this  parting.  Romola's  mind  was  oppressed  with  thoughts  ; 
she  needed  to  be  alone  as  soon  as  possible,  but  with  her  ha- 
bitual care  for  the  least  fortunate,  she  turned  aside  to  put  her 
hand  in  a  friendly  way  on  Monna  Lissa's  shoulder  and  make 
her  a  lareAvell  sign.  Before  the  old  woman  had  finished  her 
deep  reverence  Romola  had  disappeared. 

Monna  Lissa  and  Tessa  moved  towards  each  other  by  si- 
multaneous impulses,  while  the  two  children  stood  clinging 
to  their  mother's  skirts  as  if  they,  too,  felt  the  atmosphere 
of  awe. 

"  Do  you  think  she  teas  a  saint  ?"  said  Tessa,  in  Lisa's  ear, 
showing  her  the  lock. 

Lisa  rejected  that  notion  very  decidedly  by  a  backward 
movement  of  her  fingers,  and  then  stroking  the  rippled  gold, 
said, 

"  She's  a  great  and  noble  lady.     I  saw  such  in  my  youth." 

Romola  went  home  and  sat  alone  through  the  sultry  hours 
of  that  day  with  the  heavy  certainty  that  her  lot  was  un- 
changed. She  was  thrown  back  again  on  the  conflict  be- 
tween the  demands  of  an  outward  law  which  she  recognized 
as  a  widely  ramifying  obligation  and  the  demands  of  inner 
moral  facts  whicli  were  becoming  more  and  more  peremp- 
tory. She  had  drunk  in  deeply  the  spirit  of  that  teach- 
ing by  which  Savonarola  had  urged  her  to  return  to  her 
place.  She  felt  that  the  sanctity  attached  to  all  close  relations, 
and,  therefore,  pre-eminently  to  the  closest,  was  but  the  expres- 
Gion  ill  outward  law  of  that  result  towards  which  all  humas 

1  o* 


r 


4  I  8  kOMOla. 

tjoodiK  ss  ami  nobli'iioss  must  ppoiitniicoiisly  tciul;  that  tho 
iiiXlil  :il»:iii(l()iiiiK'iit  (it  IK'S,  wliC'tluT  iiiheritiil  oi-  voluntary,  be* 
cuuso  tlifv  li;ul  t'c'ust'd  to  be  ]>Ii'as;uit,  was  llii'  uprootiiit;  of 
aocial  ami  ]UMSonal  virtue.  What  else  had  Tito's  erime 
towards  Baldassarre  been  but  that  abandonment  workini; 
itself  out  to  the  most  hideous  extreme  of  falsity  and  ingrati- 
tude ? 

And  the  inspiring  consciousness  breathed  into  her  by  Sa* 
vonarola's  inilueiiee  that  her  lot  was  vitally  united  with  the 
general  lot  had  exalted  even  the  minor  details  of  obligation 
into  religion.  She  was  marching  with  a  great  ai'my  ;  she  was 
feeling  the  stress  of  a  common  life.  If  victims  were  needed, 
and  it  was  uncertain  on  whom  the  lot  might  iall,  she  would 
stand  ready  to  answer  to  her  name.  tShe  had  stood  long ; 
sho  luul  striven  hard  to  fullill  the  bond  ;  l)ut  she  had  seen  all 
the  conditions  which  made  the  fulfillment  possible  gradually 
forsaking  her.  The  one  effect  of  her  nianiage-tie  seemed  to 
be  the  stitling  predominance  over  her  of  a  nature  that  she  de- 
spised. All  iier  efforts  at  union  had  only  made  its  impossi- 
bility more  palpable,  and  the  relation  had  become  for  her 
simjily  a  degrading  servitude.  The  law  was  sacred.  Yes, 
l»ut  rebellion  might  be  s:;*  red  too.  It  Hashed  upon  her  mind 
that  the  problem  before  her  was  essentially  the  same  as  that 
which  ha<l  lain  before  Savonarola — the  problem  where  the 
sacredness  of  obedience  ended  and  where  the  sacifdness  of 
rebellion  l)egan.  To  lier,  as  to  him,  there  had  come  one  of 
those  moments  in  life  when  the  soul  must  dare  to  act  on  its 
own  warrant,  not  only  without  external  law  to  a])peal  to,  but 
in  the  lace  of  a  law  which  is  not  unarmed  with  Divine  light- 
nings— lightnings  that  may  vet  fall  if  the  warrant  has  been 
false. 

Before  the  sun  had  gone  down  she  had  adopted  a  resolve. 
She  would  ask  no  counsel  of  lier  godfather  or  of  Savonarola 
until  she  had  made  one  determined  effort  to  syeak  freely 
with  Tito  and  obtain  his  consent  that  she  shouhl  live  ai)art 
from  him.  She  desired  not  to  leavt'  him  clandestinely  again, 
or  to  forsake  Florence.  She  would  tell  him  that,  if  he  ever 
felt  a  real  need  of  her,  she  wouM  come  back  to  him.  Was  not 
that  tlic  utmost  iaithfulness  to  her  b«)nd  that  could  be  re- 
quired of  her?  A  shuddering  anticii)ation  came  over  licr 
that  he  would  clothe  a  refusal  in  a  sneering  suggestion  that 
she  shouM  enter  a  convent  as  the  only  mode  of  (piitting  him 
that  would  not  be  scandalous.  lie  knew  well  that  her  mind 
revolted  from  that  means  of  escape,  not  oidy  because  of  her 
y<vn  repnixnance  to  a  narrow  rule,  but  because  all  the  cherish- 
ed '7JfM-'()i' cs  of  her  father  furbade  that    she  sliouM   atlopt  a 


ROMOI.A.  419 

moflc  of  life  which  was  associated  with  his  deepest  griefs  and 
bitterest  dislike. 

Tito  had  announced  liis  intention  of  coming  home  this 
evening.  She  Avould  wait  for  him,  and  say  Avhat  slie  had  to 
say  at  once,  for  it  was  difficult  to  get  his  ear  during  the  day. 
If  he  had  the  slightest  suspicion  that  personal  Avords  were 
coming,  he  slipped  away  Avith  an  appearance  of  unpremedi- 
tated ease.  When  she  sent  for  Maso  to  tell  him  that  she 
would  Avait  for  his  master,  she  observed  that  the  old  man 
looked  at  her  and  lingered  Avith  a  mixture  of  hesitation  and 
wondering  anxiety ;  but  finding  that  she  asked  him  no  ques- 
tion,  he  sloAvly  turned  aAvay.  Why  should  she  ask  questions? 
Perhaps  Maso  only  knew  or  guessed  something  of  Avhat  i,he 
kncAV  already. 

It  Avas  late  before  Tito  came.  Romola  had  been  pacing  up 
and  down  the  long  room  Avhich  had  once  been  the  library, 
Avith  the  Avindows  open  and  a  loose  Avhite  linen  robe  on  in- 
stead of  her  usual  black  garment.  She  Avas  glad  of  that 
change  after  the  long  hours  of  heat  and  motionless  medita- 
tion ;  but  the  coolness  and  exercise  made  her  more  intensely 
Avakeful,  and  as  she  Avent  with  the  lamj)  in  her  hand  to  open 
the  door  for  Tito,  he  might  Avell  have  been  startled  by  the 
vividness  of  her  eyes  and  the  expression  of  painful  resolution 
Avhich  Avas  in  contrast  Avith  her  usual  self-restrained  quies- 
cence before  him.  But  it  seemed  tliat  this  excitement  Avas 
just  Avhat  he  expected. 

"  Ah  !  it  is  yo.u,  Romola.  Maso  is  gone  to  bed,"  he  said, 
in  a  grave,  quiet  tone,  interposing  to  close  the  door  for  her. 
Then,  turning  round,  he  said,  looking  at  her  more  /'ally  thaii 
he  Avas  Avont, "  You  have  heard  it  all,  I  see." 

Romola  quivered.  lie,  then,  Avas  inclined  to  ta'ire  the  in- 
itiative. He  had  been  to  Tessa.  She  led  the  Avay  through 
the  nearest  door,  set  down  her  lamp^  and  turned  towards  him 
again. 

"  You  must  not  think  despairingly  of  the  consequences," 
said  Tito,  in  a  tone  of  soothing  encouragement,  at  Avhich  Ro- 
mola stood  wondering,  until  he  added,  "  The  accused  have  too 
many  family  ties  Avith  all  parties  not'  to  escape ;  and  Messer 
Benira-do  del  Nero  has  other  things  in  his  favor  besides  his 
age." 

Rcmola  started,  and  gaA'e  a  cry  as  if  she  had  been  sudden- 
ly striken  by  a  sharp  Aveapon. 

"  What !  you  did  not  know  it  ?"  said  Tito,  putting  his  hand 
under  her  arm  that  he  might  lead  her  to  a  seat;  bnt  sh* 
eeemed  to  be  unaAvare  of  his  touch. 

"Tell  me,"  she  said,iiastily,  "  tell  me  what  it  is." 


420  ROM  OLA. 

"  A  mail,  wliosc  name  you  may  forgot — Lanil)orto  (IcU' 
Anti'll:>  —  who  was  banishod,  has  hoon  soi/ed  williiii  llio  terri- 
tory :  a  letter  has  been  fouiul  on  hini  of  very  dangerous  ini 
port  to  tlie  cliief  .Mediceans,  and  the  st-oundri'l,  who  was  once 
u  favorite  hound  of  I'iero  de' ^ledici,  is  jvaily  now  to  swear 
what  any  one  pleases  against  him  or  his  friends.  Some  have 
uiade  their  escape,  but  live  are  now  in  prison." 

"My  godlather?"  said  Itomola,  scarcely  above  a  whisper, 
js  Tito  made  a  slight  pause. 

''  Yes ;  I  grieve  to  say  it.  But  along  with  him  there  are 
tliree,  at  least,  whose  namt's  have  a  commanding  interest  even 
among  the  popular  party — Niccolo  Kidolli,  Lorenzo  Torna- 
Luoni,  and  Giannozzo  Pucci." 

The  tide  of  Komola's  leelings  liad  been  violently  turned 
into  a  new  channel.  In  the  tumult  of  that  moini-nt  there 
could  be  no  check  to  the  words  which  came  as  tlu-  imi)ulsive 
utterance  of  lier  long-accumulating  horror.  When  Tito  had 
named  the  men  of  whom  she  felt  certain  he  was  the  conted- 
erate,  she  said,  with  a  recoiling  gesture  and  low-toned  bitter- 
ness, 

"  And  you — you  are  safe  ?" 

"You  are  certainly  an  amiable  wife,  my  Romola,"  said 
Tito,  with  the  coldest  irony.     "Yes;  I  am  safe." 

They  turned  away  from  each  other  in  silence. 


CHAPTER  LVII. 

•WHY      J   I  T  O     WAS    SAFE, 


Ttto  had  good  reasons  for  saying  that  he  was  safe.  Tn  tfie 
last  three  months,  <luriiig  wliich  he  had  foreseen  the  discov- 
ery of  the  Medicean  conspirators  as  a  ])rol)able  event,  he  had 
had  jilenty  of  time  to  ]n-ovide  himself  with  resources.  He 
had  been  strengthening  his  influence  at  Kome  and  at  Milan, 
by  beiuur  t he  nu'iliiim  of  scci'ct  ini'ormation  and  indirect  nu-as- 
ures  against  the  Fr.ate.and  the  popular  party  ;  he  had  culti- 
vated more  assiduously  than  cvei-  the  regard  of  this  party  by 
•liowing  subtil'  evidence  that  his  jiolitical  con\ictions  were 
:.Mitirely  on  their  side,  and  all  the  while,  instead  ol"  withdraw- 
ing his  agency  from  the  Mediceans,  he  had  sought  to  be  more 
actively  em])loyed  an<l  exclusively  trusted  by  them.  It  was 
easy  to  him  to  keep  u|t  this  tiiple  game.  The  pnnciple  of 
duplicity  a<lmilfed  by  the  Mediceans  on  their  own  behalf  de- 
])rive<i  them  of  any  standard  by  wliich  they  could  measure 
\!ic  tru-^t-woi-tliincss  of  a  colleague  who  had  not.  like  then» 


ROMOLA.  421 

selves,  hereditary  interests,  alliances,  and  prejudices,  Mhicli 
were  intensely  Medicean.  In  their  minds  to  deceive  the  op- 
posite party  was  fair  stratagem,  to  deceive  their  own  party 
was  a  baseness  to  which  they  felt  no  temptation  ;  and  in 
using  Tito's  facile  ability  they  were  not  keenly  awake  to  the 
fact  that  the  absence  of  traditional  attachments  which  made 
him  a  convenient  agent  was  also  the  absence  of  what  among 
tliemselves  was  the  chief  guai-anty  of  mutual  honor.  Again, 
the  Roman  and  Milanese  friends  of  the  aristocratic  party,  or 
Arrabbiati,  who  wei'c  the  bitterest  enemies  of  Savonarola,  car- 
ried on  a  system  of  underhand  correspondence  and  espion- 
age, in  which  the  deepest  hypocrisy  was  the  best  service,  and 
demanded  the  heaviest  pay  ;  so  that  to  suspect  an  agent  be- 
cause he  played  a  part  strongly  would  have  been  an  absurd 
want  of  logic.  On  the  other  hand,  the  Piagnoni  of  the  popu- 
lar party  who  had  the  directness  that  belongs  to  energetic 
conviction,  were  the  more  inclined  to  credit  Tito  with  sinceri- 
ty in  his  political  adhesion  to  them,  because  he  aflected  no  re- 
ligious sym])athies. 

By  virtue  of  these  conditions  the  last  three  months  had 
been  a  time  of  flattering  success  to  Tito,  The  result  he  most 
cared  for  was  the  securing  of  a  future  position  for  himself  at 
Rome  or  at  Milan,  for  he  had  a  growing  determination,  when 
the  favorable  moment  should  come,  to  quit  Florence  for  one 
of  those  great  capitals  Avhere  life  was  easier,  and  the  rcAvards 
of  talent  and  learning  were  more  splendid.  At  present,  the 
scale  dipped  in  favor  of  Milan ;  and  if  Avithhi  the  year  he 
could  render  certain  services  to  Duke  Ludovico  Sibrza,  he 
liad  the  prospect  of  a  place  at  the  Milanese  court,  which  out- 
weighed the  advantages  of  Rome. 

The  revelation  of  the  Medicean  conspiracy,  then,  had  been 
a  subject  of  foretliought  to  Tito  ;  but  he  had  not  been  able 
to  foresee  the  mode  in  which  it  would  be  brought  about. 
The  arrest  of  Lamberto  dell'  Antella  with  a  tell-tale  letter  on 
his  person,  aiul  a  bitter  rancor  against  the  Medici  in  his  heart, 
was  an  incalculable  event.  It  was  not  possible,  in  spite  of 
the  careful  pretext  with  which  his  agency  had  been  guarded, 
that  Tito  sriould  escape  implication  :  he  had  never  expected 
this  in  case  of  any  Avide  discovery  concerning  the  Medicean 
plots.  But  his  quick  mind  had  soon  traced  out  the  course 
that  would  secure  his  own  safety  with  the  fewest  unjileasant 
concomitants.  It  is  agreeable  to  keep  a  whole  skin;  but  the 
skin  still  remains  an  organ  sensitive  to  the  atmosphere. 

His  reckoning  had  not  deceived  him.  That  night  before 
he  returned  home  he  had  secured  the  three  results  for  Avhich 
he   most  cared  :    he  was  to  be  freed  from  all  proceedinrjs 


422  ROMOLA. 


af^ainst  liiin  on  account  of  complicity  witli  llic  MedlocaiiB; 
he  was  to  retain  his  sccretarysliip  lor  anotlier  year,  unless  he 
previously  resiij^ned  it  ;  and,  lastly,  the  juice  by  which  he 
iiad  obtained  these  ;j:uaranties  was  to  be  kept  as  a  State  se- 
cret. The  price  would  have  been  thout^ht  heavy  by  most 
men  ;  and  Tito  hiuiselt' would  rather  not  have  paid  it. 

lie  had  applied  liiinselt'  iirst  to  win  the  mind  of  Frances- 
co Valori,  who  was  not  only  one  of  the  Ten  under  whom  he 
(immediately  luM  his  secretaryshij),  but  one  of  the  special 
council  appointetl  to  investigate  the  eviileuce  of  the  plot. 
Francesco  Valori,  as  we  have  seen,  was  the  head  of  the  Fi:ii^- 
noni,  a  man  with  certain  tine  cpialities  that  were  not  incom- 
patible with  violent  partisanshij),  M'ith  an  arrogant  tcmj)er 
tliat  alienatt'(l  his  friends,  nor  with  bitter  ])ersonal  animosi- 
ties— one  of  the  bitterest  being  directed  against  .IJernardo 
del  Nero.  To  him,  in  a  brief  private  interview,  alter  obtain- 
ing a  pledge  of  secrecy,  Tito  avowed  his  own  agency  foi-  the 
]Mediceans — an  agency  induced  by  motives  about  which  he 
was  very  frank,  declaring  at  the  same  time  that  he  had  al- 
ways believed  their  efforts  futile,  and  that  he  sincerely  pre- 
ferred the  maintenance  of  the  popular  government  ;  affect- 
ed to  confide  to  Valori,  as  a  secret,  his  own  personal  dislike 
for  Bernardo  del  Nero ;  and  after  this  preparation,  came  to 
the  important  statement  that  there  was  another  Medicean 
plot,  of  which,  if  he  obtained  eeilain  conditions  from  the  gov- 
ernment, he  could  by  a  journey  to  Siena,  and  into  Homagna 
where  Piero  de'  Medici  was  again  trying  to  gather  forces, 
obtain  documentary  evidence  to  lay  before  the  council.  To 
this  end  it  was  essential  that  his  character  as  a  ^[edicean 
agent  should  be  unshaken  for  all  ^lediceans,  and  hence  the 
fact  that  he  had  been  a  source  of  information  to  the  authoi-i- 
ties  must  be  wrapped  in  profound  secrecy.  Still,  some  odor 
of  the  facts  might  escape  in  spite  of  precaution,  and  before 
Tito  could  incur  the  un]>leasant  consequences  of  acting 
against  his  frii-nds,  he  nnist  be  assured  of  immunity  from 
any  prosecution  as  a  Medicean,  and  fiom  dejirivation  ofofiice 
for  a  year  to  couu". 

These  propositions  did  not  sound  in  the  ear  of  Francesco 
Valori  j)recisely  as  they  sound  to  us.  \'alori's  mind  was 
not  intensely  bent  on  the  estimation  of  Tito's  conduct:  and 
it  was  intensely  bent  on  ])rocuring  an  extreme  sentence 
against  the  five  prisoners.  There  were  sure  to  l)e  immense 
efforts  to  save  Ihcm;  and  it  was  to  be  wished  (on  jiublic 
groumls)  tliat  the  evidence  against  them  should  bt;  of  the 
strongest,  so  as  to  alarm  all  well-aifected  nun  :it  the  dangers 
of  clemency.     The  character  of  legal    proceeding-   at   that 


ROMOLA.  423 

time  implied  that  evidence  was  one  of  those  desirable  things 
which  could  only  be  come  at  by  foul  means.  To  catch  a 
few  people  and  torture  them  into  confessing  every  body's 
guilt  was  one  step  towards  justice  ;  and  it  was  not  always 
easy  to  see  the  next  unless  a  traitor  turned  up.  Lamberto 
deir  Antella  had  been  tortured  in  aid  of  his  previous  willing- 
ness to  tell  more  than  he  knew  ;  nevertheless,  additional  and 
stronger  facts  were  desirable,  especially  against  Bernardo 
del  Nero,  who,  so  far  as  appeared  hitherto,  had  simply  re- 
frained from  betraying  the  late  plot  after  having  tried  in 
vain  to  discourage  it ;  for  the  welfare  of  Florence  demanded 
that  the  guilt  of  Bernardo  del  Nero  should  be  put  in  the 
strongest  light.  So  Francesco  Valori  zealously  believed  ; 
and  perhapshe  was  not  himself  aware  that  the  strength  of 
his  zeal  was  determined  by  his  hatred.  He  decided  that  Tito's 
proposition  ought  to  be  accepted,  laid  it  before  his  colleagues 
without  disclosing  Tito's  name,  and  Avon  them  over  to  his 
opinion.  Late  in  the  day  Tito  was  admitted  to  an  audience 
of  the  Special  Council,  and  produced  a  deep  sensation  among 
them  by  revealing  another  plot  for  insuring  the  mastery  of 
Florence  to  Pierode'  Medici,  which  Avas  to  have  been  carried 
into  execution  in  the  middle  of  this  very  month  of  August. 
Documentary  evidence  on  this  subject  Avould  do  more  than 
any  thing  else  to  make  the  right  course  clear.  He  received 
a  commission  to  start  for  Siena  by  break  of  day  ;  and,  be- 
sides this,  he  carried  away  AA^th  him  from  the  council-cham- 
ber a  Avritten  guaranty  of  his  immunity  and  of  his  retention 
of  office. 

Among  the  twenty  Florentines  who  bent  their  grave  eyes 
on  Tito,  as  he  stood  gracefully  before  them,  speaking  of  star- 
tling things  Avith  easy  periphrasis,  and  Avith  that  apparently 
unatiected  admission  of  being  actuated  by  motives  short  of 
the  highest  Avhich  is  often  the  intensest  affectation,  there  Avere 
several  Avhosc  minds  Avere  not  too  entirely  preoccupied  for 
them  to  pass  a  new  judgment  on  him  in  these  new  circum- 
stances ;  they  silently  concluded  that  this  ingenious  and  ser- 
viceable Greek  Avas  in  future  rather  to  be  used  for  public 
needs  than  for  private  intimacy.  Unprincipled  men  A\'ere 
useful,  enabling  those  Avho  had  more  scruples  to  keep  their 
hands  tolerably  clean  in  a  world  Avliere  there  Avas  much  dirty 
Avork  to  be  done.  Indeed,  it  Avas  not  clear  to  respectable 
Florentine  brains,  unless  they  held  the  Frate's  extravagant 
belief  in  a  possible  purity  and  loftiness  to  be  striven  for  on 
this  earth,  how  life  Avas  to  be  carried  on  in  any  department 
Avithout  human  instruments  Avhom  it  Avould  not  be  unbecom- 
ing to  kick  or  to  spit  upon  in  the  act  of  handing  them  theii 


424  nOMOLA. 

wasxos.  Somo  of  llu'sc  very  men  wlio  jiasscd  :i  tacit  ju<l«^- 
inent  on  Tito  were  sliortly  to  be  enga<jed  in  a  meniorablo 
transaction  tliat  coultl  by  no  means  liave  been  carried  tlirouj^h 
without  tlie  use  of  an  unscrupulousness  as  tU-cided  as  liis; 
but,  as  their  own  bright  Pulci  iiad  said  for  tliem,  it  is  one 
thing  to  love  the  Iruits  of  treachery,  and  another  thing  to 
love  traitors. 

II  tnuliniciUo  a  iiiolti  jiiace  assai, 

Ma  il  tniditore  a  giiiiii  noii  piaccitie  mai. 

The  same  society  has  liad  a  gibbet  Yov  the  murderer  and  a 
gibbet  for  the  martyr,  an  execrating  hiss  for  a  dastardly 
act,  and  as  loud  a  liiss  lor  many  a  word  of  sxenerous  tnithl'ul- 
iiess  or  just  insiglit :  a  mixed  condition  of  tilings  which  is 
tile  sign,  not  of  hopeless  confusion,  l)ut  of  struggling  oriler. 

For  Tito  himself,  he  was  not  unaware  that  he  had  sunk  a 
little  in  the  estimate  of  the  men  who  had  acce|»te(l  his  serv- 
ices, lie  had  that  degree  (tf  self-contemplation  which  neces- 
sarily accompanies  the  habit  of  acting  on  well-considered 
reasons,  of  whatever  quality;  and  if  he  could  have  chosen, 
he  would  have  declined  to  see  himself  disaj»proved  by  men 
of  the  world.  He  had  never  meant  to  be  disa])pr«Med  ;  he 
had  meant  always  to  conduct  himself  so  ably  that  if  he  acte<l 
in  opposition  to  the  standard  of  other  men  they  should  not 
be  aware  of  it ;  and  the  barrier  between  himself  and  Komola 
Jiad  been  raised  by  the  impossibility  of  such  concealment 
with  her.  He  shi-ank  from  condemnatory  judgments  as 
from  a  climate  to  which  he  could  not  adapt  himself.  But 
things  Avere  not  so  ])lastic  in  the  hands  of  cleveiness  as  could 
be  wished,  and  events  had  turned  out  inconveniently.  He 
hail  really  no  rancor  against  .Messei-  I>ernai(lo  del  Nero;  ho 
had  a  jjcrsonal  liking  for  Lorenzo  '^I'ornabuoni  and  (iiovanni 
Piicci.  Hi'  had  served  them  very  ably,  and  in  such  a  way 
that  if  their  party  had  been  winners  he  would  have  meritet,! 
hiirh  reward;  but  was  he  to  relincjuish  all  the  agreeable 
fruits  of  life  because  their  ])arty  lia<l  lailed  ?  His  judtler  of  a 
little  additional  proof  against  them  wouM  ]irobably  have  no 
ir.rtuence  on  their  fite  ;  in  I'act,  he  telt  con\  inced  they  would 
escape  any  extreme  consequences;  but  if  he  had  not  given  it, 
his  own  fortunes,  which  made  a  promising  fabric,  would  have 
been  utterly  ruined.  ^\nd  what  motive  could  any  man  really 
have,  except  his  own  interest  V  Florentines  whose  ]»assions 
were  engaged  in  their  petty  and  precarious  ])olitical  schemes 
might  have  no  self-interest  sepaiable  from  family  pride  and 
tenacity  in  old  liati'eds  and  attachments;  a  modern  simi)le. 
ton  wh(i  swallowed  whole  one  of  the  old  systems  of  philosc 


ROMOLA.  425 

pliy,  and  took  the  indigestion  it  occasioned  for  the  signs  of 
a  divine  afflux  or  the  voice  of  an  in^vard  monitor,  might  see 
his  interest  in  a  form  of  self-conceit,  which  he  called  self-re- 
warding virtue  ;  faiuitics  who  believed  in  the  coming  scourge 
and  renovation  might  see  their  own  interest  in  a  future  palm 
branch  and  white  robe  :  but  no  man  of  clear  intellect  allowed 
his  course  to  be  determined  by  such  puerile  impulses  or 
questionable  inward  fumes".  Did  not  Fontanus,  poet  and 
philosopher  of  unrivalled  Latinity,  make  the  finest  possible 
oration  at  Naples  to  welcome  the  French  king,  who  had  come 
to  dethrone  the  learned  oi'ator's  royal  friend  and  patron  ?  and 
still  Pontanus  held  up  his  head  and  prospered.  Men  did  not 
'•eally  care  about  these  things,  except  Avhen  their  personal 
spleen  was  touched.  It  was  weakness  only  that  was  de- 
spised ;  power  of  any  sort  carried  its  immunity  ;  and  no  man, 
miless  by  very  rare  good  fortune,  could  mount  high  in  the 
Avoi-ld  without  incurring  a  few  unpleasant  necessities  which 
laid  him  open  to  enmity,  and  perhaps  to  a  little  hissing,  when 
enmity  wanted  a  pretext. 

It  was  a  faint  prognostic  of  that  hissing,  gatliered  by  Tito 
from  certain  indications  when  ho  was  before  the  council, 
wliich  gave  his  present  conduct  the  character  of  an  epoch  to 
liim,  and  made  him  dwell  on  it  with  argumentative  vindica- 
tion. It  was  not  that  he  was  taking  a  deeper  step  in  wrong- 
doing, for  it  was  not  possible  that  he  should  feel  any  tie  to 
the'Alediceans  to  be  stronger  than  the  tie  to  his  father;  but 
his  conduct  to  his  father  had  been  hidden  by  successful  1}^- 
ing  :  his  present  act  did  not  admit  of  total  concealment — in 
its  very  nature  it  was  a  revelation.  And  Tito  winced  under 
his  new'  liability  to  disesteem. 

Well  !  a  little  patience,  and  in  another  year,  or  perhaps  in 
half  a  year,  he  might  turn  his  back  on  these  hard,  eager  Flor- 
entines, with  their  futile  quarrels  and  sinking  fortunes.  His 
brilliant  success  at  Florence  had  had  some  ugly  flaws  in  it : 
he  had  fallen  in  love  with  the  Avrong  woman,  and  Baldassar- 
re  had  come  back  under  incalculable  circumstances.  But,  aa 
Tito  galloped  with  a  loose  rein  towards  Siena,  he  saw  a  fix- 
ture before  him  in  which  he  would  no  longer  be  haunted  by 
those  mistakes.  lie  had  much  money  safe  out  of  Florence 
already ;  he  was  in  the  fresh  ripeness  of  eight-and-twenty  ; 
he  was  conscious  of  well-tried  skill.  Could  he  not  strip  him- 
self of  the  past,  as  of  rehearsal-clothing,  and  throw  away  the 
old  bundle,  to  robe  himself  for  the  real  scene? 

It  did  not  enter  into  Tito's  meditations  on  the  future,  that, 
on  issuing  from  the  council-chamber  and  descending  the 
Btairs,  he  had  brushed  against  a  man  whose  face  he  had  not 


420  noiioLA. 


staid  to  vccofriiizo  ill  the  lainpli^hl.  The  man  was  Scr  f'cc- 
coiK' — also  -willinLi^  to  serve  tlie  State  by  giving  intonnatiou 
against  unsuccesslul  employers. 


CIIAPTEIl  LVIII. 

A    FINAL    UNDERSTANDING. 

Tito  soon  returned  from  Siena,  but  almost  immediately  set 
out  on  another  journey,  from  which  he  did  not  return  till  the 
IVth  of  August.  Nearly  a  fortnight  had  passed  since  the  ar 
rest  ot  the  accused,  and  still  they  were  in  j)rison,  still  their 
fate  was  uncertain.  IJomola  had  felt  during  this  interval  as 
if  all  cares  were  suspeiuled  tor  her,  other  than  watching  the 
fluctuating  probabilities  concerning  that  fate.  Sometimes 
they  seemed  strongly  in  favor  of  the  prisoners ;  for  the 
chances  of  etiective  interest*on  their  behalf  were  hei<;hten«(l 
by  delay,  and  an  indefinite  prospect  of  delay  was  opened  by 
the  reluctance  of  all  persons  in  authority  to  incur  the  odium 
attendant  on  any  decision.  On  the  one  side  there  was  a  loud 
cry  that  the  Republic  was  in  danger,  and  that  lenity  to  the 
prisoners  would  be  the  signal  of  attack  tor  all  its  enemies ; 
on  the  other,  thcrc  was  the  certainty  that  a  sentence  of  death 
and  confiscation  of  property  passed  on  five  citizens  of  distin- 
guished name  would  entail  the  rancorous  hatred  of  their  re- 
latives on  all  who  were  conspicuously  instrumental  to  such  a 
sentence. 

The  final  judgment  properly  lay  with  the  Eight,  wlio  pre- 
sided over  the  administration  of  criminal  justice;  and  the 
sentence  depended  on  a  majority  of  six  votes.  But  the 
Eight  slirank  from  their  onerous  responsibilit  v,  and  asked  in 
this  exceptional  case  to  liave  it  shared  by  the  Signoria  (or 
the  Gonfaloniere  and  the  eight  Priors).  The  Signoria,  in  its 
turn,  shrugged  its  shoulders,  and  ])rojiose(l  the  appeal  to  tlie 
Great  Council.  For,  according  to  a  law  ))assed  by  the  ear- 
nest persuasion  of  Savonarola  nearly  three  years  before, 
whenever  a  citizen  was  condemned  to  death  by  the  fatal  six 
votes  (called  the  .<^ri  fi/rr  or  six  beans,  beans  beiui;  in  more 
senses  than  one  the  pf)litical  pulse  of  Florence),  he  had  the 
right  of  apjx'aling  from  that  sentence  to  the  Great  Council. 

]»ut  in  this  stage  of  the  business  the  friends  of  the  accused 
resisted  the  ap))eal,  determined  chiefly  by  the  wish  to  gain  de- 
lay ;  and,  in  fact,  strict  legality  required  that  sentence  should 
have  been  passed  prior  to  the  api>eal.  Their  resistance  pit' 
vailed,  and  a  midille  course  was  taken  :  the  sentence  was  ret 


KOMOLA.  427 

ferret!  to  a  large  assembly  convened  on  the  seventeenth,  con- 
sistino-  of  all  the  his/her  raasristracies,  the  smaller  council  or 
genate  of  eighty,  and  a  select  number  of  citizens. 

On  this  day  Komola,  Avith  anxiety  heightened  by  the  pos- 
sibility that  before  its  close  her  godfather's  fate  might  be  de- 
cided, had  obtained  leave  to  see  him  for  the  second  time,  but 
cnly  in  the  presence  of  witnesses.  She  had  returned  to  the 
V^ia  de'  Bardi  in  company  with  her  cousin  Brigida,  still  igno- 
rant w^hether  the  councd  had  come  to  any  decisive  issue  ;  and 
Monna  Brisrida  had  oone  out  again  to  await  the  momentous 
news  at  the  house  of  a  friend  belonging  to  one  of  the  magis- 
tracies,  that  she  might  bring  back  authentic  tidings  as  soon 
as  they  were  to  be  had. 

Roraola  had  sunk  on  the  first  seat  in  the  bright  saloon,  too 
much  agitated,  too  sick  at  heai't  to  care  about  her  place,  or  be 
conscious  of  discordance  in  the  objects  that  surrounded  her. 
She  sat  with  her  back  to  the  door,  resting  her  head  on  her 
hands.  It  seemed  a  long  while  since  Monna  Brigida  had 
gone,  and  Romola  was  expecting  her  return.  But  Avhen  the 
ftooi*  opened  she  knew  it  was  not  Monna  Brigida  who  en- 
tered. 

Since  she  had  parted  from  Tito  on  that  memorable  night 
Bhe  had  had  no  external  proof  to  warrant  her  belief  that  he 
had  won  his  safety  by  treachery ;  on  the  contrary,  she  had 
had  evidence  that  he  Avas  still  trusted  by  the  Mediceans,  and 
was  believed  by  them  to  be  accomplishing  certain  errands  of 
theirs  in  Romagna,  under  cover  of  fulfilliftg  a  commission  of 
the  Government.  For  the  obscurity  in  which  the  evidence 
concerning  the  conspirators  was  shrouded  allowed  it  to  be 
understood  that  Tito  had  escaped  any  implication. 

But  Romola's  susjiicion  was  not  to  be  dissij)ated  :  her  hor- 
ror ofhis  conduct  towards  Baldassarre  projected  itself  over 
every  conception  of  his  acts  ;  it  was  as  if  slie  had  witnessed 
him  committing  a  murder,  and  had  had  a  diseased  imj^ression 
ever  after  that  his  hands  were  covered  with  fresh  blood. 

As  she  heard  his  step  on  the  stone  floor  a  chill  shudder 
passed  through  her;  she  could  not  turn  round,  she  could  not 
rise  to  give  any  greeting.  He  did  not  speak,  but  after  an  in- 
stant's pause  took  a  seat  on  the  other  side  of  the  table  just 
opposite  to  her.  Then  she  raised  her  eyes  and  looked  at  him  ; 
but  she  was  mute.     He  did  not  show  any  irritation,  but  said, 

"  This  meeting  corresponds  with  our  parting,  Romola. 
But  I  understand  that  it  is  a  moment  of  terrible  suspense.  I 
am  come,  however,  if  you  will  listen  to  me,  to  bring  you  the 
relief  of  hope." 


428  llOMOLA. 

She  started,  ami  altered  lier  position,  but  looked  at  liira 
dubiously. 

''  It  will  not  be  unwelcome  to  you  to  liear — even  tlioagh 
it  is  I  who  tell  it — that  the  council  is  proroLjued  till  the  tweu- 
ty-tirst.  The  Ei;j;ht  have  been  frightened  at  last  into  passing 
a  sentence  ot"  condemnation,  but  the  denuuul  lias  now  been 
made  on  behalf  of  the  condemned  lor  an  appeal  to  the  (Ireat 
Council." 

Komola's  face  lost  its  dubious  expression ;  she  asked, 
eaijerly, 

"And  when  is  it  to  l)e  made?" 

"  It  has  not  yet  been  granted  ;  but  it  may  be  granted. 
The  council  is  to  meet  again  on  the  twenty-first  to  deliber- 
ate whether  the  appeal  sliall  be  allowed  or  not.  In  the  mean 
time  tlu'i-i'  is  ail  interval  of  three  days  in  which  chances  may 
occur  ill  favor  of  the  prisoners — in  which  interest  may  be 
used  on  their  l)ehalt." 

liomola  started  from  her  seat.  The  color  ha<l  risen  to  her 
face  like  a  visible  thought,  and  her  hands  trembled.  In  that 
moment  her  feeling  towards  Tito  was  forgotten, 

"Possibly,"  said  Tito,  also  rising,  "your  own  intention 
may  have  anticipated  what  I  was  going  to  say.  You  are 
thinking  of  the  Frate." 

"  I  am,"  said  Homola,  looking  at  him  with  surprise.  "  lias 
he  done  any  thing?     Is  there  any  thing  to  tell  me  V" 

"Only  this.  It  was  Messer  Francesco  Yalori's  bitterness 
and  violence  which  chiefly  determined  the  course  of  things  in 
the  conned  to-day.  Half  the  nu'u  who  gave  in  their  opinion 
against  the  ])risoiu'rs  were  frightene(l  into  it,  and  there  are  nu- 
merous friends  of  Fra  Girolamo  both  in  this  Special  Council 
and  out  of  it  who  are  strong! v  opposed  to  the  sentence  of 
death — Piero  (iuicciardini,  for  example,  who  is  one  member  of 
the  Signoria  that  made  the  stoutest  resistance  ;  and  there  is 
Giovan  liattista  Pidolti,  who,  Piagnone  as  he  is,  will  not  light- 
ly forgive  the  death  of  his  brother  \iccolo." 

"  IJut  how  can  the  appeal  be  denied,"  said  liomola,  indig- 
nantly, "when  it  is  the  law — when  it  was  one  of  the  chief 
glories  of  the  popular  government  to  have  jiassed  the  law?" 

"  'I'hey  call  this  an  exceptional  case.  Of  course  there 
are  ingenious  argunu'iits,  but  then'  is  much  more  of  loud 
bluster  about  tlic  danger  of  the  republic.  But,  you  see, 
no  ojiposition  could  ])revent  the  assembly  from  being  pro- 
rogued, and  a  certain  ])owerful  influence  lightly  ap])lied 
during  the  next  three  days  might  determine  tlie  wavering 
couraLje  of  those  who  desire  that  the  appeal  should  be  grant- 
ed^ and  might  even  give  a  check  to  the  headlong  enmity  of 


ROMOLA.  429 

Francesco  Valoii.  It  liai)pcns  to  have  come  to  my>knowi- 
edcre  that  the  Frate  has  so  far  interfered  as  to  send  a  messaore 
to  liim  in  favor  of  Lorenzo  Tornabuoni.  I  know  you  can 
sometimes  have  access  to  the  Frate  :  it  might  at  all  events  be 
worth  while  to  use  vour  pi-ivile<2;e  now." 

"  It  is  true,"  said  Komola,  Avith  an  air  of  abstraction.  "  I 
can  not  believe  that  the  Frate  would  apj^rove  denying  the 
appeal." 

"  I  heard  it  said  by  more  than  one  person  in  the  court  of 
the  Palazzo,  before  I  came  away,  that  it  would  be  to  the  ever- 
lasting discredit  ofFra  Girolamo  if  he  allowed  a  govei'nment 
which  is  almost  entirely  made  up  of  his  party,  to  deny  the 
appeal,  without  entering  his  protest,  when  he  has  been  boast- 
ing in  his  books  and  sermons  that  it  was  he  Avho  got  the  law 
passed.*  But,  between  ourselves,  with  all  respect  for  your 
Frate's  ability,  my  Romola,  he  had  got  into  the  practice  of 
preaching  that  form  of  human  sacrifices  called  killing  tyrants 
and  wicked  malcontents  which  some  of  his  followers  are  likely 
to  think  inconsistent  with  lenity  in  the  present  case." 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  said  Komola,  with  a  look  and  tone  of 
pain.  "But  he  is  driven  into  those  excesses  of  S2:)eech.  It 
used  to  be  different.  I  vrill  ask  for  an  interview.  I  can  not 
rest  without  it.     I  trust  in  the  greatness  of  his  heart." 

She  was  not  looking  at  Tito  ;  her  eyes  were  bent  with  a 
vague  gaze  towards  the  ground,  and  she  had  no  distinct  con- 
sciousness that  the  words  she  heard  came  from  her  hnshand. 

"  Better  lose  no  time,  then,"  said  Tito,  with  unmixed  suavi- 
ty, moving  his  cap  round  in  his  hands  as  if  he  were  about  to 
put  it  on  and  depart.  "  And  now,  Komola,  you  will  pei'haps 
be  able  ta  see,  in  spite  of  prejudice,  that  my  wishes  go  with 
yours  in  this  matter.  You  will  not  regard  the  misfortune 
of  my  safety  as  an  offense." 

Something  like  an  electric  shock  passed  through  Romola: 
it  was  the  full  consciousness  of  her  husband's  presence  re- 
turning to  her.     She  looked  at  him  without  speaking. 

"At  least,"  he  added,  in  a  slightly  harder  tone,  "you  will 
endeavor  to  base  our  intercourse  on  some  other  reasoning 

*  Tlie  most  recent,  and  in  several  respects  tlie  best,  hiographer  of  Savonaro-' 
la,  Signer  Villari,  endeavors  to  sliow  that  the  Law  of  Ajipeal  ultimately  en- 
acted, being  wider  than  the  law  originally  contemplated  by  Savonarola,  was  a 
source  of  bitter  annoyance  to  him,  as  a  contrivance  of  the  aristocratic  jjarty 
for  attaching  to  the  measures  of  the  popular  government  the  injurious  results 
of  license.  But  in  taking  this  view  tl>e  estimable"  biographer  lost  sight  of  the 
fact  that,  not  only  in  his  sermons  but  in  a  deliberately  prepared  book  Tthc 
Couipencliuiii  licvclationuiii)  written  long  after  the  Ap])eal  luid  become  law. 
Savonarola  enumerates  among  the  benefits  secured  to  Florence,  "  ?//r  A/ippfii 
from  the  Six  Votes,  adcocattd  by  vie,  for  the  (jreatcr  security  of  the  citizeus." 


430  KOMOIA. 

tlmn  that  hccause  an  evil  dood  is  possible,  /  liave  done  it. 
Am  I  ;il<»iie  to  be  beyond  the  pule  ofyour  extensive  eh:irity  V" 

The  feeling  which  had  been  driven  back  I'loiii  Koniola'a 
lips  a  fortnijjjht  before  rose  again  with  the  gathered  force  of 
a  tidal  wave.  Slie  spoke  with  a  decision  which  told  him  that 
she  was  careless  of  consequences. 

"  It  is  too  late,  Tito.  There  is  no  killing  the  suspicion  that 
deceit  has  once  begotten.  And  now  I  know  every  thing.  I 
know  who  that  old  man  Avas  :  he  was  yt)ur  lather,  to  whom 
you  owe  every  thing — to  whom  you  owe  more  than  if  you 
had  been  his  oAvn  child.  ]>y  the  si<lc  of  that,  it  is  a  small 
thing  that  you  broke  my  trust  and  my  father's.  As  long  as 
you  deny  the  truth  about  that  old  man  there  is  a  horror  rising 
between  ns :  the  law  that  should  make  us  one  can  never  be 
obeyed.  I  too  am  a  human  being.  I  have  a  soulof  my  own 
that  abhors  your  actions.  Our  union  is  a  j»retense — as  if  a 
per})etual  lie  could  be  a  sacred  marriage." 

Tito  did  not  answer  immediately.  When  lie  did  speak  it 
was  with  a  calculated  cautiun  that  was  stimulated  by  alarm. 

''And  you  mean  to  carry  out  that  independence  by  quit- 
ting me,  1  presume  ?" 

"I  desire  to  quit  you,"  said  l\omola,  impetuously. 

"And  supposing  I  do  not  submit  to  jtart  with  what  the 
law  gives  me  some  security  for  retaining  ?  You  will  then, 
of  course,  proclaim  your  reasons  in  the  ear  of  all  P^'loivnce. 
You  will  bring  forward  your  mad  assassin,  who  is  doubtless 
ready  to  ol)ov  vour  call,  and  vou  will  tell  the  world  that  you 
believe  his  testimony  because  he  is  so  rational  as  to  desire  to 
assassinate  me.  You  will  first  infurm  tlu-  Signoria  that  T  am 
a  Medicean  cons|>irator,  and  then  you  will  iiilbiiu  the  Medi- 
ceans  that  I  have  betrayed  them,  and  in  both  cases  you  will 
ofter  the  excellent  ]iroof  that  you  believe  me  cajiablc  in  gen- 
eral of  every  thing  bad.  It  will  certaiidy  be  a  striking  posi- 
tion for  a  Avife  to  adopt.  And  if,  on  such  evidence,  you  suc- 
ceed in  holding  me  up  to  infamy,  you  will  have  sur])assed  all 
the  heroines  of  the  (ireek  drama." 

He  paused  a  moment,  Init  she  stood  mute.  lie  went  on 
with  the  sense  of  mastery. 

"I  believe  you  have  no  other  grievance  against  me  except 
that  1  have  i'ailed  in  fulfilling  somi'  lolty  indefinite  conditions 
on  which  you  gave  me  your  wifely  iiffection,  so  that,  by  with- 
drawing it,  you  have  gradually  reduced  me  to  the  careful 
su]ij>ly  of  your  wants  as  a  fair  Piagnone  of  high  condition  and 
liberal  charities.  I  think  your  succ(>ss  in  gibbeting  me  in 
not  certain.  Uut  (biubtless  you  would  begin  by  winning  the 
ear  of  INIesser  liernarch*  del  Nero  V" 


KOMOLA.  4ol 

"  Why  do  I  speak  of  any  thing  ?"  cried  Romola,  in  anguislj, 
sinking  on  her  chair  again.  "  It  is  hateful  in  me  to  be  tliink- 
ing  of  myself!" 

She  did  not  notice  Avhen  Tito  left  the  room,  or  know  how 
long  it  was  before  the  door  opened  to  admit  Monna  Brigida. 
But  in  that  instant  she  started  up  and  said, 

"  Cousin,  we  must  go  to  San  Marco  directly.  I  must  see 
ray  confessor,  Fra  Salvestro." 


CHAPTER  LIX. 

PLEADIXG. 

TriE  morning  was  in  its  early  brightness  when  Romola  was 
again  on  her  Avay  to  San  Marco,  having  obtained  through  Fra 
Salvestro,  the  evening  before,  the  promise  of  an  interview 
with  Fra  Girolamo  in  the  chapter-house  of  tlie  convent.  The 
rigidity  with  which  Savonarola  guarded  his  life  from  all  the 
pretexts  of  calumny  made  such  interviews  very  rare,  and 
whenever  they  were  granted,  they  were  kept  free  from  any 
appearance  of  mystery.  For  this  reason  the  hour  chosen 
was  one  at  which  there  were  likely  to  be  other  visitors  in 
the  outer  cloisters  of  San  Marco. 

She  chose  to  pass  through  the  heart  of  the  city  that  she 
might  notice  the  signs  of  public  feeling.  Every  loggia,  every 
convenient  corner  of  the  piazza,  every  shop  that  made  a  ren- 
dezvous for  gossips,  Avas  astir  with  the  excitement  of  gratu- 
itous debate ;  a  languishing  trade  tending  to  make  political 
discussion  all  the  more  vigorous.  It  was  clear  that  the  par- 
ties for  and  against  the  death  of  the  conspirators  were  bent 
on  making  tlie  fullest  use  of  the  three  days'  interval  in  order 
to  determine  the  popular  mood.  Already  hand-bills  were  in 
circulation  ;  some  presenting,  in  large  print,  the  alternative 
of  justice  on  the  conspirators  or  ruin  to  the  republic,  others, 
in  equally  large  print,  urging  the  observance  of  the  law  and 
the  granting  of  the  Appeal.  Round  those  jutting  islets  of 
black  capitals  there  were  lakes  of  smaller  characters  setting 
forth  arguments  less  necessary  to  be  read  ;  for  it  was  an 
opinion  entertained  at  that  time  (in  the  first  flush  of  triumph 
at  the  discovery  of  printing),  that  there  was  no  argument 
more  widely  convincing  than  question-begging  phrases  in 
large  type. 

Romola,  however,  cared  especially  to  become  acquainted 
with  the  arguments  in  smaller  type,  and,  though  obliged  to 
hasten  forward,  she  looked  round  anxiously  as  she  went,  that 


432  IIOMOLA. 

rIio  miixlit  miss  no  ojijiortiinity  of  sccnrint;  copies.  For  a 
loiii;  way  t<)ie  saw  noiu'  but  siicli  us  wuic  in  tlii'  liauds  of  i-a- 
gcr  reatlcrs,  or  else  tixed  <>ii  the  walls,  liom  which  in  some 
jjlaci'S  the  sl>irri  weiv  teariiiLT  tlie'iii  down,  lint  at  last,  |>ass- 
iiiLj  Ijc'hiiul  San  Giovanni  with  a  quickcnotl  pace,  that  she 
inii^ht  avoid  the  many  acquaintances  who  frccjuentcMl  the 
pia/za,  she  saw  liratti  with  a  stock  of  liand-hills,  which  he 
apjicared  to  be  cxchani^iuLj  ibr  small  coin  with  the  passers- 
iby.  She  was  too  familiar  with  the  humble  life  of  Florence 
•for  Bratti  to  be  any  stranjiccr  to  her,  and,  turning  towards 
him,  slie  said,  "  Have  you  two  sorts  of  liand-bills,  IJratti  ? 
Let  me  Irxve  them  (piickly." 

"Two  sorts,"  said  Hra'tti,  separatint;  the  wet  sheets  with 
u  sbjwncss  that  tried  Komola's  i)atience.  "There''s  'Law,' 
and  there's  'Justice.'" 

"  Which  sort  do  you  sell  most  of?" 

"'Justice' — 'Justice'  goes  the  quickest;  so  I  raised  the 
price,  and  made  it  two  danarl.  Hut  then  I  bethouLcht  me 
the  '  Law  '  was  good  ware  too,  aiyl  had  as  good  a  right  to  be 
cliarged  for  as  'Justice;'  for  people  set  no  store  by  clieap 
things;  and,  if  I  sold  the  'Law'  at  one  danaro,  I  sliould  bo 
doing  it  a  Avrong.  And  Fm  a  fair  trader.  'Law'  or 'Jus- 
tice,' it's  all  one  to  me  ;  tliey're  good  wares.  I  got  'em  both 
lor  nothing,  and  I  sell  'em  at  a  lair  protit.  But  you'll  want 
more  than  one  of  a  sort  V" 

"No,  no:  here's  a  white  quattrino  for  the  two,"  said  Ko- 
mola,  folding  up  the  bills  and  hurrying  away. 

She  was  soon  in  the  outer  cloisters  of  San  ]Marco,  wliero 
Fia  Salvestro  was  awaiting  her  under  the  cloister,  but  di<l 
not  notice  the  approach  of  her  light  stt'p.  lie  was  cliatting, 
according  to  liis  habit,  witli  lay  visitors;  for  under  the  au- 
spices of  a  crovcrnment  friendly  to  the  Frate,  tlu'  timidity 
about  frefpienting  San  ]Marco,  which  had  followed  on  the 
first  sliock  of  the  excommunication,  had  been  gra(hially  giv- 
ing way.  Ill  one  of  these  lay  visitors  she  recognized  a  well- 
known  satellite  of  Francesco  Valori,  named  Andrea  C'ambini, 
who  was  narrating  or  expounding  with  enqihatie  gesticula- 
tion, while  Fra  Salvestro  was  listening  w  iili  that  air  of  trivial 
curiosity  which  tells  that  the  listener  cares  very  much  about 
news  and  very  little  about  its  (piality.  This  eharacteristic 
of  her  confessor,  which  was  always  repulsive  to  IJomola,  waa 
made  exasperating  to  her  at  this  moment  by  the  certainty 
slu'  gathered,  from  thi'  disjointed  words  which  I'eaeheil  her 
ear,  that  Cambini  was  narrating  something  relative  to  the 
fate  of  the  conspirators.  She  chose  not  to  approacli  the 
group;  but,  as  soon   as  she  saw  that  she  had  arrested  Fra 


ROMOLA.  433 

f^alvestro's  attention,  she  turned  toTvards  the  door  of  the  chap- 
ter-house, while  he,  making  a  sign  of  approval,  disappeared 
within  the  inner  cloister.  A  lay  brother  stood  ready  to  open 
the  door  of  the  chapter-house  for  her,  and  closed  it  behind  her 
as  she  entered. 

Once  more  looked  at  by  those  sad  frescoed  figures  which 
had  seemed  to  be  mourning  with  her  at  the  death  of  her 
brother  Dino,  it  was  inevitable  that  something  of  that  scene 
should  come  back  to  her :  but  the  intense  occupation  of  her 
mind  with  the  present  made  the  remembrance  less  a  retro- 
spect than  an  indistinct  recurrence  of  impressions  which 
blended  themselves  with  her  agitating  fears,  as  if  her  actual 
anxiety  Avere  a  revival  of  the  strong  yearning  she  had  once 
before  brought  to  this  spot — to  be  repelled  by  marble  rigidi- 
ty. She  gave  no  space  for  the  remembrance  to  become  more 
definite  ;  for  she  at  once  opened  the  hand-bills,  thinking  she 
should  perhaps  be  able  to  read  them  in  the  interval  before 
Fra  Girolamo  appeared.  But  by  the  time  she  had  read  to 
the  end  of  the  one  that  recommended  the  observance  of  the 
law,  the  door  was  opening,  and,  doubling  up  the  papers,  she 
stood  expectant. 

When  the  Frate  had  entered,  she  knelt,  according  to  the 
usual  practice  of  those  who  saw  him  in  private ;  but  as  soon 
as  he  had  uttered  a  benedictory  greeting  she  rose  and  stood 
opposite  to  him  at  a  few  yards'  distance.  Owing  to  his  se- 
clusion since  he  had  been  excommunicated,  it  had  been  an 
unusually  long  while  since  she  had  seen  him,  and  the  late 
months  had  visibly  deepened  in  his  face  the  marks  of  over- 
taxed mental  activity  and  bodily  severities  ;  and  yet  Romo- 
la  Avas  not  so  conscious  of  this  change  as  of  another,  which 
was  less  definable.  Was  it  that  the  expression  of  serene  el- 
evation and  pure  human  fellowship  which  had  once  moved 
her  was  no  longer  present  in  the  same  force,  or  was  it 
that  the  sense  of  his  being  divided  from  her  in  her  feeling 
about  her  godfather  roused  the  slumbering  sources  of  aliena- 
tion, and  marred  her  own  vision  ?  Perhaps  both  causes  were 
at  Avork.  Our  relations  with  our  fellow-men  are  most  often 
determined  by  coincident  currents  of  that  sort;  the  inex- 
cusable word  or  deed  seldom  comes  until  after  affection  or 
reverence  has  been  already  enfeebled  by  the  strain  of  repeat- 
ed excuses. 

It  Avas  true  that  SaA^onarola's  glance  at  RomoU  had  some 
of  that  hardness  which  is  caused  by  an  egoistic  preposses- 
sion. He  divined  that  the  intervicAV  she  had  sought  Avas  to 
turn  on  the  fate  of  the  conspirators,  a  subject  on  Avhich  he 
had  already  had  to  quell  inner  voices  that  might  become 

19 


434  ROMOLA. 

loud  attain  wlion  oncouracjed  from  -svitliout.  Seated  in  liia 
ctll,  correcting  tlie  sheets  of  liis  Trbunplt  of  tite  Cross, '\i  was 
easier  to  repose  on  a  resolution  of  neutrality. 

"It  is  a  (luostion  of  moment,  doubtless,  on  which  you 
wished  to  see  me,  my  duughler,"  he  began,  in  a  tone  which 
was  gentle  rather  from  sell-control  than  from  immediate  in- 
clination. "  I  know  you  are  not  wont  to  lay  stress  on  small 
matters." 

"Father,  you  know  what  it  is  before  I  tell  yo ',"  said 
Komola,  forgetting  every  thing  else  as  soon  as  she  began  to 
pour  forth  her  j)lea.  "  Vou  know  wliat  I  am  caring  lor — it 
is  for  the  life  of  the  old  man  1  love  best  in  the  \vt>rld.  The 
thought  of  him  has  gone  together  witli  the  thought  of  my 
fatlier  as  long  as  I  remember  the  daylight.  Tli.it  is  my  war- 
rant for  coming  to  you,  even  if  my  coming  should  have  been 
needless.  Perliaps  it  is  :  perha])S  you  have  already  deter- 
mined that  your  power  over  the  hearts  of  men  sh.'iU  be  used 
to  prevent  them  from  denying  to  Florentines  a  riglit  which 
you  yourself  heljied  to  earn  for  them.''^ 

"  i  meddle  not  with  the  functions  of  the  State,  my  daugh- 
tor,"  said  Fra  Girolamo,  strongly  disinclined  to  ivoi)en  ex- 
ternally a  debate  which  he  had  already  gone  through  in- 
w.u-dly.  "  I  have  preached  and  labored  that  Florence  should 
have  a  good  government,  for  a  good  government  isv  needful 
to  the  ])('rfecting  of  the  Christian  life;  but  I  keep  away  my 
liands  from  jjarticular  atfairs,  which  it  is  the  ollice  of  e.vperi- 
enced  citizens  to  administer." 

"  Surely,  fither — "  Ifomola  broke  off.  She  had  uttered 
this  lirst  word  almost  imj)etuously,  but  she  was  checked  by 
the  counter  agitation  of  feeling  herself  in  an  attitude  of  re- 
monstrance towards  the  man  who  had  been  the  source  of 
guidance  and  strength  to  licr.  In  the  act  of  rebelling  she 
was  l)ruising  her  own  reverence. 

Savonarola  was  too  keen  not  to  divine  something  of  the 
conrtict  that  was  arresting  lier — too  noble  deliberately  to  as- 
sume in  calm  speech  that  self-justifying  evasiveness  into 
which  he  was  often  hurried  in  public  by  the  crowding  im- 
pulses of  the  orator. 

"Say  what  is  in  your  heart  ;  s]>eak  on,  my  daughter,"  he 
paid,  standing  with  his  arms  laid  one  uj)on  the  other,  and 
looking  at  her  with  (piiet  expectation. 

"  I  was  going  to  say,  fitlier,  that  this  matter  is  siirely  of 
liigher  moment  than  many  about  which  I  have  heard  you 
])reach  and  exliort  fervidly.  If  it  belonged  to  you  to  urge 
that  men  condemned  for  offenses  against  the  State  shouhl 
have  the  right  to  ajipeal  to  the  Great  Council — if" — Komola 


BOMOLA.  435 

was  getting  eager  again — "  if  you  count  it  a  glory  to  have 
won  that  right  for  them,  can  it  less  belong  to  you  to  declare 
yourself  against  the  right  being  denied  to  almost  the  first 
men  who  need  it  ?  Surely  that  touches  the  Christian  life 
more  closely  than  whether  you  knew  beforehand  that  the 
Dauphin  would  die,  or  A>^hether  Pisa  will  be  conquered." 

There  was  a  subtle  movement,  like  a  subdued  sign  of  pain^ 
in  Savonarola's  strong  lips,  before  lie  began  to  speak. 

"  My  daughter,  I  speak  as  it  is  given  me  to  speak — I  am 
not  master  of  the  times  Avhen  I  may  become  the  vehicle  of 
knowledo;e  bevond  the  common  lio-hts  of  men.  In  this  case 
I  have  no  illumination  beyond  what  wisdom  may  give  to 
those  who  are  charged  with  the  safety  of  the  State.  As  to 
the  law  of  Appeal  against  the  Six  Votes,  I  labored  to  have 
it  passed  in  order  that  no  Florentine  should  be  subject  to 
loss  of  life  and  goods  through  the  private  hatred  of  a  few 
who  might  happen  to  be  in  power ;  but  these  five  men,  who. 
have  desired  to  overthrow  a  free  government  and  restore  a 
corrupt  tyrant,  have  been  condemned  with  the  assent  of  a 
large  assembly  of  their  fellow-citizens.  They  refused  at  first 
to  have  their  cause  brought  before  the  Great  Council.  They 
have  lost  the  right  to  the  appeal. 

"How  can  they  have  lost  it?"  said  Romola.  "It  is  the 
right  to  appeal  against  condemnation,  and  they  have  never 
been  condemned  till  now;  and,  forgive  me,  fiither,  it  is  pri- 
vate hatred  that  woiild  deny  them  the  appeal ;  it  is  the  vio- 
lence of  the  few  that  frightens  others;  else  why  was  the  as- 
sembly divided  again  directly,  after  it  had  seemed  to  agree? 
And  if  any  thing  weighs  against  the  observance  of  the  law, 
let  this  Aveigh^/b?'  it — this,  that  you  used  to  preach  more  ear- 
nestly than  all  else,  that  there  should  be  no  place  given  to 
hatred  and  bloodshed  because  of  these  party  strifes,  so  that 
private  ill-will  should  not  find  its  opportunities  in  public 
acts.  Father,  you  know  that  there  is  private  hatred  concern- 
ed here :  will  it  not  dishonor  you  not  to  have  interposed  on 
the  side  of  mercy,  when  thei'e  are  many  who  hold  that  it  is 
also  the  side  of  law  and  justice  ?" 

"  My  :hanghter,"  said  Fra  Girolamo,  with  more  visible 
emotion  than  before,  "  there  is  a  mercy  which  is  weakness, 
and  even  treason  against  the  common  good.  The  safety  of 
Florence,  which  means  even  more  than  the  welfare  of  Flor' 
entines,  now  demands  severity,  as  it  once  demanded  mercy. 
It  is  not  only  for  a  past  plot  that  these  men  are  condemned, 
but  also  for  a  plot  which  has  not  yet  been  executed;  and 
the  devices  that  were  leading  to  its  execution  are  not  put  an 
end  to :  the  tyrant  is  still  gathering  his  forces  in  Romagna  j 


43G  ROMOLA. 

and  the  cnoniios  of  Florence,  tliat  sit  In  tlie  liii^Iiest  places  of 
Italy,  aiv  ready  to  hurl  any  stone  that  will  crush  her." 

"  Wliat  plot  ?"  said  llomola,  reddening,  and  trembling  with 
nlaniu'il  sur]»rise. 

*'  Wiu  carry  ])apers  in  your  hand,  I  sec,"  said  Fra  Girolamo, 
pointing  to  the  hand-bills,  "  One  of  them  will,  perhaps,  tell 
you  tliat  the  (Government  has  had  new  infbrnuition." 

Uumula  hastily  opened  the  hand-l)ill  she  had  not  yet  read, 
uiu\  saw  that  the  Government  had  now  positive  evidence  of'a 
second  plot,  which  was  to  have  been  carried  out  in  this  Au- 
gust time.  To  her  mind  it  was  like  reading  a  confirmation 
that  Tito  had  won  his  salcty  by  I'oul  means;  his  pretense  of 
wishing  that  the  Frate  should  exert  himself  on  behalf  of  the 
condt-mned  only  hel|>ed  the  Avretched  conviction.  She  crush- 
ed up  the  j)aj)er  in  her  hand,  and,  turning  to  Savonarola,  she 
said,  with  new  passion,  "  Father,  Avliat  safety  can  there  be  for 
Florence  when  the  worst  man  can  always  escape?  And," 
she  went  on,  a  sudden  flash  of  remembrance  coming  from  the 
thought  aljout  her  husl)and,  '•  have  not  you  yourself  encour- 
aged this  deception,  which  corrupts  the  life  of  Florence,  by 
wanting  more  favor  to  be  shown  to  Lorenzo  Tornabuoni,  who 
has  worn  two  faces,  and  flattered  yon  Avilh  a  show  of  affec- 
tion, when  my  godfather  has  always  been  lionest  ?  Ask  all 
F'lorencc  who  of  those  five  men  has  the  truest  heart,  and  there 
Avill  not  be  many  who  m  ill  name  any  other  name  than  Jier- 
nardo  del  Nero.  Vou  did  iMter)>ose  with  Francesco  Valori 
for  the  sake  of  one  prisoner :  you  have  7iot  then  been  neutral ; 
and  you  know  that  your  word  will  be  ])owerful." 

"I  do  not  desire  the  death  of  Jiernardo,"  said  Savonarola, 
coloring  deeply.  "  It  woulel  be  enough  if  he  were  sent  out 
of  the  city." 

"•Then  why  do  yon  not  speak  to  save  an  old  man  of  seven- 
ty-five from  dying  a  death  of  ignominy — to  give  him  at  least 
the  fair  chances  of  the  law  ?"  burst  out  liomola,  the  impet- 
uosity of  iier  nature  so  I'oused  that  she  forgot  every  thing 
but  her  indignation.  "  It  is  not  that  you  ieel  bound  to  be 
neutral;  else,  why  did  you  speak  for  Lorenzo  Tornabuoni? 
You  s])oke  for  him  because  he  is  more  friendly  to  San  IMarco; 
my  godl'ather  feigns  no  friendship.  It  is  not,  then,  as  a  Medi- 
cean  that  my  godfather  is  to  die ;  it  is  as  a  man  you  have 
no  love  for !" 

When  Ikomola  ]tause(l,  with  cheeks  glowing,  and  with  (piiv- 
ering  lips,  tlu're  was  dead  silence.  As  she  saw  Fra  (ilirolamo 
fitamling  motionless  before  her,  she  seemed  to  herself  to  be 
hearing  her  own  Avords  over  again  ;  words  that  seemed  in 
this  echo  of  consciousness  to  be  in  strange,  painful  dissonance 


ROMOLA.  437 

witfi  the  memories  that  made  part  of  his  presence  to  her. 
The  moments  of  silence  were  expanded  by  gathering  com- 
punction and  self-doubt.  She  had  committed  sacrilege  in 
her  passion.  And  even  the  sense  that  she  could  retract 
nothing  of  her  plea,  that  her  mind  could  not  submit  itself  to 
Savonarola's  negative,  made  it  the  more  needful  to  her  to 
satisfy  those  reverential  memories.  With  a  sudden  move- 
ment towards  him,  she  said  : 

"  Forgive  me,  father ;  it  is  pain  to  me  to  have  spoken 
those  words — yet  I  can  not  help  speaking.  I  am  little  and 
feeble  compared  with  you ;  you  brought  me  light  and  strength. 
But  I  submitted  because  I  felt  the  proffered  strength— be- 
cause I  saw  the  light.  JSfoio  I  can  not  see  it.  Father,  you 
yourself  declare  that  there  comes  a  moment  when  the  soul 
must  have  no  guide  but  the  voice  Avithin  it  to  tell  whether 
the  consecrated  thing  has  sacred  virtue.  And  therefore  I 
must  speak." 

Savonarola  had  that  readily  roused  resentment  towards 
opposition,  hardly  separable  from  a  power-loving  and  pow- 
erful nature,  accustomed  to  seek  great  ends  that  cast  a  reflect- 
ed grandeur  on  the  means  by  wliich  they  are  sought.  His 
sermons  have  much  of  that  red  flame  in  them.  And  if  he 
had  been  a  meaner  man,  his  susceptibility  might  have  shown 
itself  in  irritation  at  Romola's  accusatory  freedom,  which  was 
in  strong  contrast  with  the  deference  lie  habitually  received 
from  his  disciples.  But  at  this  moment  such  feelings  were 
nullified  by  that  hard  struggle  which  made  half  the  tragedy 
of  his  life — the  struggle  of  a  mind  possessed  by  a  never-si- 
lent hunger  after  purity  and  simplicity,  yet  caught  in  a  tan- 
gle of  egoistic  demands,  false  ideas,  and  diflicult  outward 
conditions  that  made  simplicity  impossible.  Keenly  alive  to 
all  the  suggestions  of  Romola's  remonstrating  words,  he  was 
rapidly  surveying,  as  he  had  done  before,  the  courses  of  action 
that  were  open  to  him,  and  their  probable  results.  But  it 
was  a  question  on  which  argiiments  could  seem  decisive  only 
in  proportion  as  they  w^ere  charged  with  feeling,  and  he  had 
received  no  impulse  that  could  alter  his  bias.  He  looked  at 
Romola,and  said : 

"  You  have  full  pardon  for  your  frankness,  my  daughter. 
You  speak,  I  know,  out  of  the  fullness  of  your  family  affec- 
tions. But  these  affections  must  give  way  to  the  needs  of 
the  republic.  If  those  men,  who  have  a  close  acquaintance 
with  the  affiairs  of  the  State,  believe,  as  I  iinderstand  they 
do,  that  the  public  safety  requires  the  extreme  punishment 
of  the  law  to  fall  on  those  five  conspirators,  I  can  not  control 
their  opinion,  seeing  that  I  stand  aloof  from  such  affairs." 


438  KOMOLA. 

"Then  yon  desire  tliat  tliey  should  die?  You  desire  tha; 
the  :i])]>(':il  should  be  denied  them  V"  said  Itoniola,  feeling 
anew  ix-pelled  hy  a  \  indication  which  seemed  to  her  to  huve 
the  nature  ol"  a  subterfuge. 

*■•  1  have  said  that  I  do  not  desire  their  death." 

"Then,"  said  Komola,  lier  iiulignation  rising  again,  "you 
can  be  indifferent  that  Florentines  should  inflict  death  wliich 
you  do  not  desire,  when  you  might  have  protested  against  it 
— when  you  might  liave  helped  to  hinder  it,  by  urging  the 
observance  of  a  law  which  you  held  it  good  to  get  passed. 
Father,  you  used  not  to  stand  aloof:  you  used  not  to  shrink 
from  protesting.  Do  not  say  you  can  not  protest  where  the 
lives  of  men  are  concerned  ;  say,  ratlier,  you  desire  their  death. 
Say,  rather,  you  hold  it  good  for  Florence  that  there  shall  bo 
more  blood  and  more  hatred,  ^^'ill  the  death  of  five  3Iedi- 
ceans  put  an  end  to  jiarties  in  Florence  ?  Will  the  death  of 
a  noble  old  man  like  Bernard*  del  Nero  save  a  city  tiiat  holds 
such  men  as  Dolfo  Spini '?" 

"  My  daughter,  it  is  enougli.  The  cause  of  freedom,  wliich 
is  the  cause  of  God's  kingdom  upon  earth,  is  often  most  in- 
jured by  the  enemies  who  carry  within  them  the  power  of 
certain  human  virtues.  The  wickedest  man  is  often  not  the 
most  insurmountal)le  obstacle  to  the  triumj)h  of  gof)d." 

"  Then  why  do  you  say  again  that  you  do  not  desire  my 
<Xodfather''s  death?"  sail  Homola,  in  minirlod  anirer  and  de- 
spair.  "  IJather  you  Iiold  it  the  more  needful  he  sliould  die 
because  he  is  the  better  man.  I  can  not  unravel  your 
thoughts,  iiither;  I  can  not  hear  the  real  voice  of  your  judg- 
ment and  conscience." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause.  Then  Savonarola  said,  with 
keener  emotion  than  he  had  yet  shown, 

"  Be  thankful,  my  daughter,  if  your  own  soul  has  been 
spared  i)er])lexity,  and  judge  not  those  to  whom  a  harder  lot 
has  been  given.  You  see  one  ground  of  action  in  this  mat- 
ter. T  see  many.  I  have  to  choose  that  which  will  further 
the  work  intrustetl  to  me.  The  end  I  seek  is  one  to  which 
minor  respects  must  be  sacrificed.  The  death  of  five  men — 
were  they  less  guilty  then  these — is  a  light  matter  weighed 
airaiiist  the  withstanding  of  tlie  vicious  tyrannies  which  stifle 
the  lile  of  Italy,  and  foster  the  corruj^tion  of  the  ("hurcli  ;  a 
li<^ht  matter  weighed  against  the  furthering  of  God's  king- 
dom njion  earth,  the  end  iiii-  wliich  I  live  and  am  willing  my- 
self to  die." 

Under  any  other  circumstances,  Romola  would  have  been 
sensitive  to  the  a|)peal  at  the  beginning  of  Savonarola's 
Bpeei'h;  but  at  this  moment  she  was  so  utterly  in  antagonism 


ROMOLA.  489 

with  him,  that  what  he  called  perplexity  seemed  to  her  soph* 
ibtry  and  doublencss  :  and  as  he  went  on,  his  words  only 
fed  that  flame  of  indignation  which  now  again,  more  fully 
than  ever  before,  lit  up  the  memory  of  all  his  mistakes,  and 
made  her  trust  in  him  seem  to  have  been  a  purblind  delu- 
sion.    She  spoke  almost  with  bitterness. 

"Do  you  then  know  so  Avell  what  will  further  the  coming 
of  God's  kingdom,  father,  that  you  Avill  dare  to  despise  the 
plea  of  mercy — of  justice — of  faithfulness  to  your  OAvn  teach- 
ing ?  Has  the  French  king  then  brought  renovation  to  It  aly  ? 
Take  care,  father,  lest  your  enemies  have  some  reason  when 
they  say  that,  in  your  visions  of  what  will  further  God's  king- 
dom, you  see  only  what  will  strengthen  your  own  party." 

"  And  that  is  true  !"  said  Savonarola,  with  flashing  eyes. 
Romola's  voice  had  seemed  to  him  in  that  moment  the  voice 
of  his  enemies.  "The  cause  of  my  i:)arty  is  the  cause  of 
God's  kingdom." 

"I  do  not  believe  it!"  said  Romola,  her  whole  frame 
shaken  with  passionate  repugnance.  "  God's  kingdom  is 
something  wider — else,  let  me  stand  outside  it  with  the  be- 
ings that  I  love." 

The  two  faces  were  lit  up,  each  with  an  opposite  emotion, 
each  with  an  opposite  certitude.  Further  words  were  impos- 
sible. Romola  hastily  covered  her  head  and  went  out  in  si' 
lence. 


CHAPTER  LX. 

THE   SCAFFOLD, 


Three  days  later  the  moon  that  was  just  surmounling  the 
buildings  of  the  piazza  in  front  of  the  old  Palace  within  the 
hour  of  midnight  did  not  make  the  usual  broad  lights  and 
shadows  on  the  pavement.  Not  a  hand's-breadth  of  pave- 
ment was  to  be  seen,  but  onlv  the  heads  of  an  ea^er,  strugr- 
gUng  multitude.  And  in-stead  of  that  background  of  silence 
in  which  the  pattering  footsteps  and  buzzing  voices,  the  lute- 
thrumming  or  rapid  scampering  of  the  many  night-wanderers 
of  Florence  stood  out  in  obtrusive  distinctness,  there  was  the 
background  of  a  roar  from  mingled  shouts  and  imprecations, 
tramplings  and  pushings,  and  accidental  clashing  of  Aveapons, 
across  which  nothing  was  distingiiishable  but  a  darting  shriek 
or  the  heavy  dropping  toll  of  a  bell. 

Almost  all  who  could  call  themselves  the  public  of  Florence 
we'-e  awake  at  that  hour,  and  either  inclosetl  within  the  limits 
ifi  chat  piazza,  or  struggling  to  enter  it      JYithin  the  palace 


440  ROMOLA. 

wore  still  assembled  in  tho  council-cliamber  all  tlic  chief  magi- 
istracies,  the  eighty  members  uf  the  senate,  and  the  other  se- 
lect eitizens  who  had  Ix-en  in  hot  debate  through  Ioiilj  lioui's 
of  daylijjrht  and  toreiilight  whether  the  ajipeal  should  be 
granted  or  whether  the  sentence  of  death  should  be  executed 
on  the  prisoners  forthwith  to  forestall  the  dan<;erous  chaneea 
of  delav.  And  the  debate  hail  Ijecn  so  nnieh  like  iiercc  quar- 
rel that  the  noise  from  the  eouncil-chandjer  had  reachetl  the 
crowd  outside.  Only  within  the  last  hour  had  the  question 
been  decided  :  the  Si^noria  had  remained  divided,  four  of 
theni  standing  out  resolutely  for  the  ajipeal,  in  spile  of  the 
strong  argument  that  if  they  did  not  give  way  their  houses 
ehouhl  be  sacked,  until  Francesco  Valori,  in  brief  and  furious 
speech,  made  tlic  (h'termination  of  his  party  more  ominously 
distinct  by  declaring  tliat  if  the  Sigiioiia  would  not  defeml 
the  liberties  of  the  Florentine  people  by  executing  those  five 
perfidious  citizens,  there  would  not  be  wanting  others  who 
would  take  that  cause  in  hand  to  the  peril  of  all  who  ojiposed 
it.  The  P'lorentinc  Cato  tiiuniphed.  AVhen  the  votes  were 
counted  again,  the  four  obstinate  white  beans  no  longer  ap- 
jieared  ;  the  whole  nine  were  of  the  fatal  atllrmative  black, 
deciiling  the  death  of  the  live  prisoners  without  delay— decid- 
ing also,  only  tacitly  and  with  mucli  more  delay,  the  death  of 
Francesco  Valori. 

And  now,  while  the  judicial  Eight  were  gone  to  the  Bar- 
gello  to  prei)are  for  the  execution,  the  five  condenmed  men 
were  being  led  barefoot  and  in  irons  through  the  midst  of  the 
coimcil.  It  Avas  their  friends  who  had  contrived  this:  would 
not  Florentines  be  moved  by  the  visible  association  of  such 
cruel  ignominy  with  two  venerable  men  like  IJernardo  del 
Nero  and  Niccolo  JiidolH,  who  had  taken  their  bias  Ibiig  be- 
fore the  new  order  of  things  had  come  to  make  Mediceanism 
retrograde — with  two  brilliant  popular  young  men  like  Tor- 
nabuoni  and  Pucci,  whose  absence  would  be  felt  as  a  haunting 
vacancy  wherever  there  was  a  meeting  of  chief  Florentines  ? 
It  was  useless:  such  ])ity  as  could  be  awakened  now  was  of 
that  hoj)eless  sort  which  leads  not  to  rescue,  but  to  the  tardier 
action  of  revenge. 

While  this  scene  was  passing  up  stairs  Tiomola  stood  below 
ngainst  one  of  the  massive  pillars  in  the  court  of  the  palace, 
expecting  the  moment  when  her  godfather  would  appear  on 
his  way  to  execution.  I?y  the  use  of  strong  interest  she  had 
gained  permission  to  visit  him  in  the  evening  of  this  day,  and 
remain  with  him  until  the  result  of  the  council  should  be  de- 
termined. An<l  now  she  was  waiting  with  his  confessor  to 
follow  the  guard  that  would  lead  him  to  the  IJargello,      Iler 


ROMOLA.  441 

heart  was  bent  on  clinging  to  the  presence  of  the  childless  old 
man  to  the  last  moment,  as  her  father  would  have  done,  and 
she  had  overpoAvered  all  remonstrances.  Giovan  Battista  Ki- 
dolti,  a  disciple  of  Savonarola,  who  was  going  in  bitterness  to 
behold  the  death  of  his  elder  brother  Niccolo,  had  promised 
that  she  should  be  guarded,  and  now  stood  by  her  side. 

Tito,  too,  was  in  the  palace  ;  but  Romola  had  not  seen  him. 
Since  the  evening  of  the  seventeenth  they  had  avoided  each 
other,  and  Tito  only  knew  by  inference  from  the  report  of  the 
Frate's  neutrality  that  her  pleading  had  failed.  He  was  now 
surrounded  with  official  and  other  personages,  both  Florentine 
and  foreign,  who  had  been  awaiting  the  issue  of  the  long-pro- 
tracted council,  maintaining,  except  when  he  was  directly  ad- 
dressed, the  subdued  air  and  grave  silence  of  a  man  whom 
actual  events  are  placing  in  a  painful  state  of  strife  between 
public  and  private  feeling.  When  an  allusion  was  made  to 
his  wife  in  relation  to  those  events,  he  implied  that  owing  to 
the  violent  excitement  of  her  mind,  the  mere  fact  of  his  con- 
tinuing to  hold  office  under  a  government  concerned  in  her 
godfatlier's  condemnation  roused  in  her  a  diseased  hostility 
towards  him ;  so  that  for  her  sake  he  felt  it  best  not  to  ap- 
proach her. 

"  Ah,  the  old  Bardi  blood  !"  said  Cennini,  with  a  shrug. 
"  I  sliall  not  be  surprised  if  this  business  shakes  her  loose  from 
the  Frate,  as  well  as  some  others  I  could  name." 

"  It  is  excusable  in  a  woman,  who  is  doubtless  beautiful, 
since  she  is  the  wife  of  Messer  Tito,"  said  a  young  French  en- 
voy, smiling  and  bowing  to  Tito,  "  to  think  that  her  affections 
must  overrule  the  good  of  the  State,  and  that  nobody  is  to  be 
beheaded  who  is  any  body's  cousin ;  but  such  a  view  is  not 
to  be  encouraged  in  the  male  population.  It  seems  to  me 
your  Florentine  polity  is  much  weakened  by  it." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Niccolo  Macchiavelli ;  "  but  where 
personal  ties  are  strong,  the  hostilities  they  raise  must  be  tak. 
en  dne  account  of.  Many  of  these  half-way  severities  are 
mere  hot-headed  blundering.  The  only  safe  blows  to  be  in- 
flicted on  men  and  parties  are  the  blows  that  are  too  heavy  to 
be  avenged." 

"  Niccolo,"  said  Cennini,  "  there  is  a  clever  wickedness  in 
thy  talk  sometimes  that  makes  me  mistrust  thy  pleasant  young 
face  as  if  it  Avere  a  mask  of  Satan." 

"  Not  at  all,  my  good  Domenico,"  said  Macchiavelli,  smil- 
ing, and  laying  his  hand  on  the  elder's  shoulder.  "  Satan  was 
a  blunderer,  an  introducer  of  novitd,  who  made  a  stupendous 
failure.  If  he  had  succeeded,  we  should  all  have  been  wor- 
ehipping  him,  and  his  portrait  would  have  been  more  flattered." 

•I  Q* 


442  ROMOLA. 

"Well,  well,"  said  Ccniiiiii,  "  I  sny  not  thy  doctriiio  is  not 
too  clever  for  Salaii :  1  only  say  it  is'wicked  enough  for  him." 

"I  tell  you,"  said  Macchiavelli,  "  my  doctrine"  is  the  doc- 
trine of  all  men  who  seek  an  end  a  little  farther  oft"  than  their 
own  noses.  Ask  our  Frate,  our  i)roi)het,  how  his  universal 
renovation  is  to  be  brought  about:  he  will  tell  you,  first  by 
getting  a  free  and  pure  government;  and  since  it  appears  that 
can  not  be  done  by  making  all  Florentines  love  each  other,  it 
must  be  done  by  cutting  off  every  head  that  hapi)ens  to  be 
obstinately  in  the  way.  Only  if  a  man  incurs  odium  by  sanc- 
tioning a  severity  that  is  not  thorough  enough  to  be  final,  he 
commits  a  blunder.  And  something  like  that  blunder,  I  sus- 
pect, the  Frate  has  committed.  It  was  an  occasion  on  which 
he  might  have  won  some  lustre  by  exerting  l)imsclf  to  main- 
tain the  Ai)peal;  instead  of  (hat,' he  has  lost  lustre,  and  has 
gained  no  sti-ength." 

Before  any  one  else  could  speak,  there  came  the  expected 
announcement  that  the  prisoners  were  about  to  leave  the  coun- 
cil-chamber;  and  the  majority  of  those  who  were  jiresent 
hurried  towards  the  door,  intent  on  securing  the  freest  ]),'issage 
to  the  Bargcllo  in  the  rear  of  the  prisoner's  guard ;  for  the 
scene  of  the  execution  Avas  one  that  drew  alike  those  who  Avere 
moved  by  the  deejiest  passions  and  those  Avho  were  moved  by 
the  coldest  curiosity. 

Tito  was  one  of  those  who  remained  behind.  lie  liad  a 
native  repugnance  to  sights  of  death  and  pain,  and  five  davs 
ago,  whenever  he  had  thought  of  this  execution  as  a  possibili- 
ty, he  had  hoped  that  it  would  not  take  i)lace,  and  that  the  ut- 
most sentence  would  be  exile:  his  own  safety  demanded  no 
more.  J>ut  now  he  felt  that  it  would  be  a  Avelcome  guaranty 
of  his  security  when  he  had  learned  that  Bernardo  del  Xero's 
head  was  off  the  shoulders.  The  new  knowledge  and  new  at- 
titude towards  him  disclosed  by  Ilomola  on  the  <lay  of  his  re- 
turn, had  given  him  a  new  dread  of  the  power  she  possessed 
to  make  his  position  insecure.  If  any  act  of  hers  only  suc- 
ceeded in  making  him  an  object  of  susjiicion  and  odium,  he 
foresaw  not  only  frustration,  but  frustration  under  unpleasant 
circumstances.  Iler  belief  in  Baldassarrc  had  clearly  deter- 
rnined  her  Avavering  feelings  against  ftirthcr  submission,  and 
if  her  godfather  lived  she  Avould  Avin  him  to  share*  her  belief 
Avithout  much  trouble.  liomola  seeme<l  more  than  ever  an 
unmanageable  fact  in  his  destiny.  But  if  Bernardo  del  Nero 
Mere  <lead,  the  difTiculties  that  Avould  beset  her  in  placing  }ier- 
self  in  opj)osition  to  her  husbantl  Avould  probablv  l)e  insur- 
mountable to  her  shrinking  pride.  Therefore  Tito  had  felt 
easier  Avhen  he  knew  that  the  Eirrht  had  gone  to  the  Bargello 


BOMOLA.  443 

to  order  the  instant  erection  of  the  scaffold.  Four  other  men 
his  intimates  and  confederates — were  to  die,  besides  Ber- 
nardo del  Nero.  But  a  man's  own  safety  is  a  god  tliat  some- 
times makes  very  grim  demands.  Tito  felt  them  to  be  grim : 
even  in  the  pursuit  of  what  was  agreeable,  this  paradoxical 
life  forced  upon  him  the  desire  for  what  was  disagreeable. 
But  he  had  had  other  experience  of  this  sort,  and  as  he  heard 
through  the  open  doorway  the  shuffle  of  many  feet  and  the 
clanking  of  metal  on  the  stairs,  he  was  able  to  answer  the 
questions  of  the  young  French  envoy  without  showing  signs 
of  any  other  feeling  than  that  of  sad  resignation  to  State  ne- 
cessities. 

Those  sounds  fell  on  Romola  as  if  her  power  of  hearing 
had  been  exalted  along  with  every  other  sensibility  of  her 
nature.     She  needed  no  arm  to  support  her ;  she  shed  no  te;trs 
She  felt  that  intensity  of  life  which  seems  to  transcend  both 
grief  and  joy — in  which  the  mind  seems  to  itself  akin  to  eider 
forces  that  wrought  out  existence  before  the  birth  of  pleasure  and 
pain.     Since  her  godfather's  fate  had  been  decided,  the  pre- 
vious struggle  of  feeling  in  her  had  given  way  to  an  identiiica- 
tion  of  herself  with  liim  in  these  supreme  moments:  shn  was 
inwardly  asserting  for  him  that,  if  he  suffered  the  punishment 
of  treason,  he  did  not  deserve  the  name  of  traitor ;  he  was  the 
victim  to  a  collision  between  two  kinds  of  faithfulness.     It 
was  not  given  to  him  to  die  for  the  noblest  cause,  and  yet  he 
died  because  of  his  nobleness.     He  might  have  been  a  meaner 
man,  and  found  it  easier  not  to  incur  this  guilt.     Romola  was 
feeling  the  full  force  of  that  sympathy  with  the  individual  lot 
that  is  continually  opposing  itself  to  the  formula3  by  which 
actions  and  parties  are  judged.     She  was  treading  the  way 
with  her  second  father  to  the  scaffold,  and  nerving  herself  to 
defy  ignominy  by  the  consciousness  that  it  was  not  deserved. 
The  way  was  fenced  in  by  three  hundred  armed  men,  who 
bad  been  placed  as  a  guard  by  the  orders  of  Francesco  Valori, 
for  among  the  apparent  contradictions  tliat  belong  to  this  event, 
not  the  least  striking  was  the  alleged  alarm  on  the  one  hand 
at  the  popular  rage  against  the  conspirators,  and  the  alleged 
alarm  on  the  other  lest  there  should  be  an  attempt  to  rescue 
them  in  the  midst  of  a  hostile  crowd.     When  they  had  arrived 
within  the  court  of  the  Bargello,  Romola  was  allowed  to  ap- 
proach Bernardo  with  his  confessor  for  a  moment  of  farewell. 
Many  eyes  were  bent  on  them  even  in  that  struggle  of  an  agi- 
tated throng,  as  the  aged  man,  forgetting  that  his  hands  were 
bound  with  irons,  lifted  them  towards  the  golden  head  that 
was    bent  towards    him,  and  then,  checking  that  movement, 
leaned  to  kiss  her.     She  seized  the  fettered  hands  that  were 


444  BOMOLA. 

hiincT  down  ajxain,  and  kissed  them  ns  if  thev  had  been  sacred 
things. 

"  My  poor  Kotnola,"  said  Bernardo,  in  a  low  voice,  "  I  have 
only  to  die,  but  thou  hast  to  live — aiul  I  shall  not  be  there  to 
Leip  thee." 

"  Yes,"  said  Roinola,  hurriedly,  "  you  will  help  me — always 
—because  I  shall  remember  you." 

J-'lvj  was  taken  away  and  conducted  up  the  flight  of  Rteps 
that  led  to  the  loggia  surrounding  the  grand  old  court.  Siie 
took  her  place  there,  determined  to  look  till  the  moment  wheu 
her  cfodfather  laid  liis  head  on  the  block.  Now  while  tho 
prisoners  were  allowed  a  brief  interval  with  their  confessor, 
tlie  spectators  were  ])ressing  into  the  court  until  the  crowd 
became  dense  around  the  Dlack  scaffold,  and  the  torches  fixed 
in  iron  rni<j:s  against  the  pillars  threw  a  varving  startlini;  li«xht 
at  one  moment  on  passionless  stune  carvnigs,  at  aiu)thL'i'  on 
8omc  pale  face  agitated  with  suppressed  rage  or  sup|)ressed 
grief — the  face  of  one  among  the  many  near  relatives  of  the 
condenmed,  who  were  presently  to  receive  their  dead  and  car- 
ry them  h(^me. 

Komola's  face  looked  like  a  marble  image  against  the  dark 
arcli  as  she  stood  watching  for  the  moment  when  her  godfather 
would  appear  at  the  foot  of  the  scaffold.  lie  was  to  suffer 
first,  and  Hattista  liidolli,  who  was  by  her  side,  had  promised 
to  take  her  away  through  a  door  behind  them  when  she  sho>dd 
have  seen  the  last  look  of  the  man  who  alone  in  all  the  world 
had  shared  her  pitying  love  for  her  father.  And  still,  in  the 
background  of  her  thought,  there  was  the  possibility,  striving 
to  be  a  hope,  that  some  rescue  might  yet  come,  something 
that  would  keep  that  scaffold  unstained  l)y  blood. 

For  a  long  while  there  Avas  constant  movement,  lights  flick- 
ering, heads  swaying  to  and  fro,  confused  voices  within  the 
court,  rushing  waves  of  soinid  through  the  entrance  from  witii- 
out.  It  seemed  to  liomola  as  if  she  were  in  the-  midst  of  a 
Btorm  or  a  troubled  sea,  caring  nothing  about  the  storm,  but 
only  about  holding  out  a  signal  till  the  eyes  that  looked  for  it 
could  seek  it  no  more. 

Suddenly  there  was  stillness,  and  the  very  tapers  seemed  to 
tremble  into  quiet.  The  executioner  was  ready  on  the  scaffold, 
and  Hernar(h)  del  Nero  was  seen  ascending  it  with  a  slow,  firm 
step.  Komola  made  no  visible  movement,  uttered  not  even  a 
suppressed  sound:  she  stood  more  firmly, caring  for  his  firm- 
ness. She  saw  him  pause,  saw  the  white  head  kept  erect, 
while  he  said,  in  a  voice  distinctly  audible, 

"It  is  but  a  short  space  of  life  that  my  fellow-citizens  have 
taken  from  me." 


EOMOLA.  44-5 

She  perceived  that  he  was  gazing  slowly  round  him  as  he 
fipoke.  She  felt  that  his  eyes  were  resting  on  her,  and  that 
she  was  stretching  out  her  arms  towards  him.  Then  she  saw 
no  more  till — a  long  Avhile  after  as  it  seemed — a  voice  said, 
"  My  daughter,  all  is  peace  now.  I  can  conduct  you  to  your 
house." 

She  uncovered  her  head  and  saw  her  godfather's  confessor 
Btanding  by  her,  in  a  room  where  there  were  other  grave  men 
talking  in  subdued  tones. 

"  I  am  ready,"  she  said,  starting  up.    "  Let  us  lose  no  time." 

She  thought  all  clinging  was  at  an  end  for  her:  all  lier 
strength  now  should  be  given  to  escape  from  a  grasp  under 
which  she  shuddered. 


CHAPTER  LXI. 

DRIFTING      AWAY. 


Ox  the  eighth  day  from  that  memorable  night  Romola  was 
standing  on  the  brink  of  the  Mediterranean,  Avatching  the  gen- 
tle summer  pulse  of  the  sea  just  above  M'hat  was  then  the  lit- 
tle fishing  A'illage  of  ^'iareggio. 

Again  she  had  fled  from  Florence,  and  this  time  no  arresting 
voice  had  called  her  back.     Again  she  Avore  the  gray  religious 
dress ;  and  this  time  in  her  heart-sickness,  she  did  not  care 
that  it  Avas  a  disguise.     A  new  rebellion  had  risen  in  her,  a    , 
new  despair.     Why  should  she  care  about  Avearing  one  badge 
more  than  another,  or  about  being  called  by  her  OAvn  name  ?     . 
She  despaired  of  finding  any  consistent  duty  belonging  to  that     l- 
name.     What  foi-ce  Avas  there  to  create  for  her  that  halloAved  c," 
supreme  motive  Avhich  men  call  duty,  but  Avhich  can  have  no 
inAvard  constraining  existence  save  through  some  form  of  be-   ,  , 
lieving  love  ?     The  bonds  of  all  strong  affection  Avere  snaj^ped.   ^  ' 
In  her  marriage,  the  highest  bond  of  all,  she'had  ceased  to  see 
the  mystic  union  Avhich  is  its  own   guaranty  of  indissoluble- 
ness,  had  ceased  even  to  see  the   obligation   of  a  A'oluntary 
pledge :  had  she  not  proved  that  the  things  to  Avhich  she  had 
pledged  herself  wore  impossible  ?     The  impulse  to  set  lierself 
free  had  risen  again  Avith  overmastering  force  ;  yet  the  free- 
dom could  only  be  an  exchange  of  calamity.    There  is  no  com- 
pensation for  the  Avoman  Avho  feels  that  the  chief  relation  of 
her  life  has  been  no  more  than  a  mistake.     She  has  lost  her 
crown.     The  deepest   secret  of  human  blessedness  has  half 
whispered  itself  to  her,  and  then  forever  passed  her  bj. 

And  noAV  Romola's  best  support  under  that  supreme  woirw 


446  ROMOLA. 

an's  sorrow  had  slipped  away  from  licr.  The  vision  of  any 
great  purpose,  any  end  of  existence  which  could  einiohle  endur- 
ance and  exalt  the  common  deeds  of  a  dusty  life  wi;h  divine 
ardors,  was  utterly  eclipsed  for  her  now  by  the  sense  of  a  con. 
fusion  in  human  thiiiLrs  which  made  all  effort  a  mere  dra^ijinf; 
at  tangled  threads;  all  fellowship,  either  for  resistance  or  ad- 
vocacy, mere  unfairness  and  exclusiveness.  What,  after  all, 
was  the  man  who  liad  represented  for  her  the  liiLchest  heroism*, 
the  heroism  not  of  hard  self-contained  endurance,  but  of  wil- 
ling,  self-offering  love  ?  What  was  the  cause  he  was  strug- 
gling for  y  Komola  had  lost  her  trust  in  Savonarola,  liad  lost 
that  fervor  of  admiration  which  had  made  her  unmindful  of 
his  aberrations,  and  attentive  only  to  the  grand  curve  of  his 
orbit.  And  now  that  her  keen  feeling  for  lier  godfather  liad 
thrown  her  into  antagonism  with  the  Frate,  she  saw  all  the 
repulsive  anil  inconsistent  details  in  his  teaching  with  a  ]>ain- 
ful  lucidity  which  exaggerated  their  proportions.  In  the  bit- 
terness of  her  disappointment  slic  said  that  his  striving  after 
the  renovation  of  the  Chui'ch  and  the  world  was  a  striving 
after  a  mere  name  which  told  no  more  than  the  title  of  a  book  ; 
a  name  that  had  come  to  mean  practically  the  measures  that 
would strengtiien  his  own  position  in  Florence  ;  nay,  often  (pies- 
tionable  deeds  anil  words,  for  the  sake  of  saving  his  intiuence 
from  suffering  by  his  own  errors.  And  that  i)olitical  refoiiu 
which  had  once  made  a  new  interest  in  her  life  seemed  now 
to  reduce  itself  to  narrow  devices  for  the  safety  of  Florence, 
in  contemptible  contradiction  with  the  alternating  professions 
of  blind  trust  in  the  Divine  care. 

It  was  inevitable  that  she  should  judge  the  Frate  unfairly 
on  a  question  of  indivi<lual  sulteiing,  at  which  .s7/f!  looked  with 
the  eyes  of  jiersonal  tenderness,  and  he  with  the  eyes  of  theo- 
retic conviction.  In  that  declaration  of  his,  that  the  cause  of 
liis  |)arty  was  the  cause  of  God's  kingdom,  she  heard  only  the 
ring  of  egoism.  Perhaps  such  wortls  have  rarely  been  utter- 
ed without  that  meaner  ring  in  tliem  ;  yet  they  arc  the  implic- 
it formula  of  all  energetic  belief.  And  if  such  energetic  be- 
lief, pursuing  a  grancl  and  remote  end,  is  often  in  danger  of 
)>ecoming  a  demon-worship,  in  which  the  votary  lets  his  son 
jmd  daughter  pass  through  the  fire  with  a  readiness  that  hard- 
ly looks  like  sacrifice  ;  tender  fellow-feeling  for  the  nearest 
has  its  danger  too,  and  is  apt  to  be  timid  and  skeptical  to- 
wards the  larger  aims  without  which  life  can  not  rise  into 
religion.  In  this  way  poor  Komola  was  being  blinded  by  her 
tears. 

No  one  wlio  has  ever  known  wliat  it  is  thus  to  lose  faith  in 
a  fellow-man  wliom  lie  has  profoundly  loved  and  reverenced, 


ROMOLA.  447 

will  lightly  say  that  the  shock  can  leave  the  faith  in  the  Invisi- 
ble Goodness  unshaken.  With  the  sinking  of  high  human 
trust  the  dignity  of  life  sinks  too  ;  we  cease  to  believe  in  our 
own  better  self,  since  that  also  is  part  of  the  common  nature 
which  is  degraded  in  our  thought ;  and  all  the  finer  impulses 
of  the  soul  ara  dulled.  Romola  felt  even  the  springs  of  her 
once  active  pity  drying  up,  and  leaving  her  to  barren  egoistic 
complaining.  Had  not  she  had  her  sorrows  too  ?  And  few 
nad  cared  for  her,  while  she  had  cared  for  nianv.  She  had 
done  enough  ;  she  had  striven  after  the  impossible,  and  was 
weary  of  this  stifling,  crowded  life.  She  longed  for  that  re- 
pose in  mere  sensation  which  she  had  sometimes  dreamed  of 
in  the  sultry  afternoons  of  her  early  girlhood,  when  she  had 
fancied  herself  floating  naiad-like  in  the  waters. 

The  clear  wa\es  seemed  to  invite  her  :  she  wished  she  could 
lie  down  to  sleep  on  them  and  pass  from  sleep  into  death. 
But  Romola  could  not  directly  seek  death  ;  the  fullness  of 
yoimg  life  in  her  forbade  that.  She  could  only  wish  that 
death  might  come. 

At  the  spot  where  she  had  paused  there  was  a  deep  bend 
in  the  shore,  and  a  small  boat  with  a  sail  was  moored  there. 
In  lier  longing  to  glide  over  the  Avaters  that  were  getting 
golden  with  the  level  sun-rays,  she  thought  of  a  story  which 
had  been  one  of  the  things  she  had  loved  to  dwell  on  in  Boc- 
caccio, when  her  father  fell  asleep  and  she  glided  from  her 
stool  to  sit  on  the  floor  and  read  the  Decamei'one.  It  was  the 
story  of  that  fair  Gostanza  who  in  her  love-lornness  desired  to 
live  no  longer,  but  not  having  the  courage  to  attack  her  young 
life,  had  put  herself  into  a  boat  and  pushed  off  to  sea ;  then 
lying  down  in  the  boat,  had  wrapped  her  mantle  round  her 
Jiead,  hoj^ing  to  be  wrecked,  so  that  her  fear  would  be  helpless 
to  flee  from  death.  The  memory  had  remained  a  mere  thought 
in  Romola's  mind,  without  budding  into  any  distinct  wisli ; 
but  now,  as  she  paused  again  in  her  walking  to  and  fro,  she 
saw  gliding  black  against  the  red  gold  another  boat  with  one 
man  in  it,  making  towards  the  bend  where  the  first  and  smaller 
boat  Avas  moored.  Walking  on  again,  she  at  length  saw  the 
man  land,  pull  his  boat  ashore,  and  begin  to  unlade  something 
from  it.  He  was  perhaps  the  OA\mer  of  the  smaller  boat  also ; 
he  would  be  going  away  soon,  and  her  opportunity  would  be 
gone  with  him — her  opportunity  of  buying  the  smaller  boat. 
Slie  had  not  yet  admitted  to  herself  that  she  meant  to  use  it, 
but  she  felt  a  sixdden  eagerness  to  secure  the  possibility  of 
usincf  it,  which  disclosed  the  half-unconscious  ixrowth  of  a 
thought  into  a  desire. 

''  Is  that  little  boat  yours  also  ?"  she  said  to  the  fisherman, 


448  ROMOLA. 

who  had  lof)kc(l  up,  a  little  startled  by  the  tall  gray  figure, 
aud  IkuI  iii.ulu  ;i  revercuce  to  this  holy  iSister  wandering  thus 
mysteriously  in  the  evening  solitude. 

It  icas  his  boat;  an  old  one,  hardly  sea-worthy,  yet  worth 
repairing  to  any  man  who  woulil  buy  it.  ]}y  the  blessing  of 
San  Antonio,  v  hose  chaj)el  was  in  the  village  yonder,  his  fish- 
ing had  prospered,  and  he  had  now  a  better  boat,  which  had 
once  been  (iianni's  who  died.  But  he  had  not  yet  sold  the 
old  one.  Komola  asked  him  how  much  it  was  worth,  and 
then,  while  he  was  busy,  thrust  the  price  into  a  little  satchel 
lying  on  the  ground  and  containing  the  remnant  of  his  din- 
ner. After  that,  she  watched  him  furling  Ids  sail,  and  asked 
him  how  he  sliuuld  set  it  if  he  w  anted  to  go  out  to  sea,  and 
then,  pacing  up  and  down  again,  waited  to  see  him  depart. 

The  imagination  of  herself  gliding  away  in  that  boat  on 
the  darkening  waters  was  growing  more  and  more  into  a 
longing,  as  the  thought  of  a  cool  brook  in  sultriness  becomes 
a  painful  thirst.  To  be  freed  from  the  burden  of  choice  when 
all  motive  was  bruised,  to  commit  herself,  skeping,  to  destiny 
which  would  either  bring  death  or  else  new  necessities  that 
might  rouse  a  new  life  in  her  !  it  was  a  thought  that  beck- 
oned her  the  more  because  the  soft  evening  air  made  her  long 
to  rest  in  the  stili  solitude,  instead  of  going  back  to  the  noise 
and  heat  of  t!:e  village. 

At  last  the  slow  fisherman  had  gathered  up  all  his  mov- 
ables and  was  walking  away.  Soon  the  gold  Avas  shrinking 
and  getting  duskier  in  sea  and  sky,  and  there  was  no  living 
thing  in  sight,  no  sound  but  the  lulluig  monotony  of  the  lap- 
ping waves.  In  this  sea  there  was  no  tide  tliat  would  helj)  to 
carry  her  away  if  she  waited  for  its  ebl»;  but  Komola  thought 
the  breeze  from  the  land  was  rising  a  little.  She  got  into  the 
boat,  unfurled  the  sail,  and  fastened  it  as  she  had  learned  in 
that  first  l)rief  lesson.  She  saw  that  it  caught  the  light  breeze, 
and  this  was  all  she  cared  for.  Then  she  loosed  the  boat  from 
its  moorings,  and  tried  to  urge  it  with  an  oar,  till  she  was  far 
out  from  the  land,  till  the  sea  was.  dark  even  to  the  west,  and 
the  stars  were  disclosing  themselves  like  a  ])alpitating  life 
over  till'  wide  heavens.  Resting  at  last,  she  threw  back  her 
cowl,  and  taking  off  the  kerchief  underneath,  which  confined 
her  hair,  she  doubled  them  V)oth  under  her  head  for  a  ]»illow 
on  one  of  the  boat's  ribs.  The  fair  head  was  still  very  young 
and  could  bear  a  hard  jiillow. 

And  so  she  lay,  with  the  soft  night  air  breathing  on  her 
while  she  gliilecl  on  the  watei's  and  watched  the  deepening 
(piiet  of  tlu'  sky.  She  was  alone  now  :  she  had  freed  herself 
from  all  claims,  she  had  freed  herself  even  from  that  burden 


450  ROMOLA. 

of  olioice  •Nvliifh  presses  svitli  lieavier  and  heavier  weiglit  when 
claims  liave  loosetl  their  gliding  liold. 

Had  she  found  any  thing  like  the  dream  of  her  girlhood? 
Ko.  ^Memories  liung  upon  lier  like  the  weiglit  of  broken 
wings  that  could  never  be  lifted — memories  of  human  sym- 
pathy which  even  in  its  pains  leaves  a  thirst  that  the  Grea* 
^Iothc^  has  no  milk  to  still.  Romola  felt  orphaned  in  those 
wide  spaces  of  sea  and  sky.  She  read  no  message  of  love  for 
her  in  that  far-off  symbolic  writing  of  the  heavens,  and  with 
a  great  sob  she  wished  that  she  might  be  gliding  into  death. 

She  drew  the  cowl  over  her  liead  again  and  covered  her 
face,  choosing  darkness  rather  than  the  liglit  of  the  stars, 
which  seemed  to  her  like  the  hard  light  of  eyes  that  looked 
at  her  without  seeing  her.  Presently  she  felt  that  she  was  in 
the  grave,  but  not  resting  there  :  slie  was  touching  the  hands 
of  tile  beloved  dead  beside  her,  and  trying  to  wake  them. 


CHAPTER  LXII. 

THE     BENEDICTION. 

About  ten  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  the  twenty-seventh 
of  February  the  currents  of  passengers  along  the  Florentine 
streets  set  decidedly  towards  San  Marco.  It  was  the  last 
morning  of  the  Carnival,  and  every  one  knew  there  was  a 
second  Bonfire  of  Vanities  being  prepared  in  front  of  the  Old 
Palace  ;  but  at  this  hour  it  was  evident  that  the  centre  of 
popular  interest  lay  elsewhere. 

The  Piazza  di  San  Marci*  was  filled  by  a  multitude  who 
showed  no  other  movement  than  that  which  proceeded  from 
the  pressure  of  new-comers  trying  to  force  their  way  forward 
from  all  the  openings  ;  but  the  front  ranks  were  alreaily  close- 
serried,  and  resisted  the  pressure.  Those  ranks  were  ranged 
around  a  semicircular  barrier  in  front  of  the  church,  and  with- 
in this  barrier  were  already  assemljling  the  Dominican  Breth- 
i;cn  of  San  .Marco. 

But  the  temporary  wooden  pulpit  erected  over  the  church 
door  was  still  empty.  It  was  ]iresently  to  be  entered  by  the 
man  whom  the  Pojie's  coniTuand  had  banished  from  the  pulpit 
of  the  Dnomo,  whom  the  other  ecclesiastics  of  Florence  had 
been  forbidden  to  consort  with,  whom  the  citizens  had  been 
forbidden  to  heat  on  ])ain  of  excommunication.  This  ni.an 
had  saiil,  "A  wickeil,  unbelieving  Poj)e,  who  has  gained  the 
pontifical  chair  by  bribery,  is  not  Christ's  Vicar.  His  curses 
are  broken  swords :  he  grasps  a  hiit  without  a  blade.     Hia 


ROilOLA.  45] 

commands  are  contrary  to  the  Christian  life:  it  is  lawful  to 
disobey  them — nay,  it  is  ?iot  lawful  to  obey  them.''''  And 
the  peojjie  still  flocked  to  hear  him  as  he  preached  in  his  own 
church  of  San  Marco,  though  the  Pope  was  hanging  terrible 
threats  over  Florence  if  it  did  not  renounce  the  pestilential 
schismatic  and  send  him  to  Rome  to  be  "converted" — still, 
as  on  this  very  morning,  accepted  the  communion  from  his  ex- 
communicated hands.  For  how  if  this  Frate  had  really  more 
command  over  the  Divine  lightnings  than  that  official  success- 
or of  Saint  Peter  ?  It  was  a  momentous  question,  which  for 
the  mass  of  citizens  could  never  be  decided  by  the  Frate's  ul- 
timate test,  namely,  what  was  and  what  was  not  accordant 
with  the  highest  spiritual  law.  No :  in  such  a  case  as  this,  if 
God  had  chosen  the  Frate  as  his  prophet  to  rebuke  ihe  High 
Priest  who  carried  the  mystic  raiment  unworthily,  he  Avould 
attest  his  choice  by  some  unmistakable  sign.  As  long  as  the 
belief  in  the  Prophet  carried  no  threat  of  outward  calamity, 
but  rather  the  confident  hope  of  exceptional  safety,  no  sign 
was  needed  :  liis  preaching  was  a  music  to  which  the  peoj^le  felt 
themselves  marching  along  the  way  they  wished  to  go ;  but 
now  that  belief  meant  an  immediate  blow  to  their  commerce, 
the  shaking  of  their  position  among  the  Italian  States,  and  an 
interdict  on  their  city,  there  inevitably  came  the  question, 
"  What  miracle  showest  thou  ?"  Slowly  at  first,  then  faster 
and  faster,  that  fatal  demand  had  been  swelling  in  Savonarola's 
ear,  provoking  a  response,  outwardly  in  the  declaration  that  at 
the  fitting  time  the  miracle  Avould  come  ;  inwardly  in  the  faith 
— not  unwavering,  for  what  faith  is  so  ? — that  if  the  need  for 
miracle  became  ui-gent,  the  work  he  had  before  him  was  too 
great  for  the  Divine  power  to  leave  it  halting.  His  faith 
wavered,  but  not  his  speech  :  it  is  the  lot  of  every  man  who 
has  to  speak  for  the  satisfaction  of  the  crowd,  that  he  must  oft- 
en speak  in  virtue  of  yesterday's  faith,  hoping  it  will  come 
back  to-morrow. 

It  was  in  preparation  for  a  scene  -which  was  really  a  response 
to  the  popular  impatience  for  some  supernatural  guaranty  of 
ihe  Prophet's  mission  that  the  wooden  pulpit  had  been 
erected  above  the  church  door.  But  while  the  ordinary  Frati 
in  black  mantles  were  entering  and  arranging  themselves  the 
faces  of  the  multitude  were  not  yet  eagerly  dii-ected  towards 
the  pulpit :  it  was  felt  that  Savonarola  would  not  appear  just 
yet,  and  there  was  some  interest  in  singling  out  the  various 
monks,  some  of  them  belonging  to  high  Florentine  families, 
many  of  them  having  fathers,  brothers,  or  cousins  among  the 
artisans  and  shop-keepers  who  made  the  majority  of  the  crowd. 
It  was  not  till  the  tale  of  monks  w^as  complete  not  till  the> 


#52  nOMOLX 

had  fluttered  ihcir  books  and  liad  bec;un  to  chant,  that  people 
said  to  I'.'U'li  other,  "  Fra  (rirohimo  must  be  eoniiiii;  now." 

That  exi)ectatioii,  rather  tliaii  any  sj)ell  from  the  aeeustoined 
wail  of  psahnody,  was  what  made  silence  and  expectation  seem 
to  spread  like  a  palinLj  solemn  liiiht  over  the  multitude  of  up- 
turned faces,  all  now  directed  towards  the  emj)ly  ])ulpit. 

The  next  instant  the  pulj)it  was  no  lon!j:;er  empty.  A  figure 
covered  from  head  to  foot  in  black  cowl  and  mantle  liad  en- 
tered it  and  was  kneeling  with  bent  head  and  with  face  turned 
away.  It  seemed  a  weary  time  to  the  eager  peoi)le  while  the 
black  figure  knelt  and  the  monks  chanted.  But  the  stillness 
was  not  broken,  for  the  Frate's  audiences  witli  Heaven  were 
yet  charged  with  electric  awe  for  that  mixed  multitude,  so 
that  those  whu  had  alreadv  the  will  to  stone  him  felt  their  arms 
unnerved. 

At  last  there  was  a  viljration  among  tlie  multitude,  each 
seeming  to  give  his  neighbor  a  momentary  aspen-like  touch,  as 
when  men  who  have  been  watching  for  something  in  the  lieavens 
,5ee  the  expected  presence  silently  disclosing  itself.  TheFrate 
liad  ri.sen,  turned  towards  the  j^eople,  and  ])arfly  pushed  back 
his  cowl.  T\\^.  monotonous  wail  of  psalmody  had  ceased,  and 
to  those  who  stood  near  the  pulpit  it  was  as  if  the  sounds 
which  liad  just  been  filling  tlieir  ears  liad  suddenly  merged 
tiiemselves  in  the  force  of  Savonarola's  flashing  glance,  as  he 
looked  round  him  in  the  silence.  Then  he  stretched  out  liis 
hands,  which,  in  their  ex(|uisite  delicacy,  seemed  transfigured 
from  an  animal  organ  for  grasping  into  vehicles  of  sensibility 
too  acute  to  need  any  gross  contact:  hands  that  came  like  an 
appealing  speech  from  tliat  part  of  his  soul  which  was  masked 
by  his  strong  passionate  face,  written  on  now  with  deeper 
lines  about  the  mouth  and  brow  than  are  made  by  forty-four 
years  of  ordinary  life. 

At  the  first  stretching  out  of  the  hands  some  of  the  crowd 
in  the  front  ranks  h  II  on  their  knees,  an<l  here  and  there  a  de- 
vout discij)le  farther  off;  but  the  great  majority  stood  firm, 
some  resisting  the  impulse  to  kneel  before  this  excommunica- 
ted luan  (might  not  a  great  judgment  fall  uixin  him  even  in 
this  act  oi  blessmg?),  others  jarred  with  scorn  anil  hatred  of 
the  ambitious  deceiver  who  was  getting  u})  this  new  comedy, 
before  which,  nevertheless,  tliey  fell  themselves  impotent,  as 
before  the  triumph  of  a  fashion. 

l?uL  then  came  the  voice,  clear  and  low  at  first,  uttering  the 
words  of  absolution — "  Misereatur  vestri  " — and  more  fell  ou 
their  knees;  and  as  it  rose  higher  and  yet  clearer,  the  erccfl 
heads  became  fewer  and  fewer,  till,  at  the  words,  "  Benedicat 
vos  omnipcteus  Ueus,"  it  rose  to  a  masculine  cry,  as  if  pre 


EOMOLA-  453 

testing  its  power  to  bless  under  the  clutch  of  a  demon  that 
wanted  to  stifle  it :  it  rang  like  a  trumpet  to  the  extremities 
oi  the  Piazza,  and  under  it  every  head  was  bowed. 

After  the  utterance  of  that  blessing  Savonarola  himself  fell 
on  his  knees  and  hid  his  face  in  temporary  exhaustion.  Those 
great  jets  of  emotion  were  a  necessary  part  of  his  life  ;  he 
himself  had  said  to  the  people  long  ago,  "  Without  preaching 
I  can  not  live."     But  it  was  a  life  that  shattered  him. 

In  a  few  minutes  more  some  had  risen  to  their  feet,  but  a 
larger  numljer  remained  kneeling,  and  all  faces  were  intently 
watching  him.  He  had  taken  into  his  hands  a  crystal  vessel, 
containing  the  consecrated  Host,  and  was  about  to  address  the 
people. 

"  You  remember,  my  children,  three  days  ago  1  besought 
you,  when  I  should  hold  this  Sacrament  in  my  hand  in  the 
face  of  you  all,  to  pray  fervently  to  the  Most  High  that  if  this 
work  of  mine  does  not  come  from  Him,  He  will  send  a  fire  and 
consume  me,  that  I  may  vanish  into  the  eternal  darkness  away 
from  His  light  which  I  have  hidden  with  my  falsity.  Again  I 
beseech  you  to  make  that  prayer,  and  to  make  it  ?io?o." 

It  was  a  breathless  moment :  perhaps  no  man  really  prayed, 
if  some  in  a  spirit  of  devout  obedience  made  tlie  effort  to  pray. 
Every  consciousness  was  chiefly  possessed  by  the  sense  that 
Savonarola  was  praying,  in  a  voice  not  loud  but  distinctly 
audible  in  the  wide  stillness. 

"  Lord,  if  I  have  not  Avrought  in  sincerity  of  soul,  if  my 
word  cotneth  not  from  Thee,  strike  me  in  this  moment  with 
Thy  thunder,  and  let  the  fires  of  Thy  wrath  inclose  me." 

He  ceased  to  speak,  and  stood  motionless,  with  the  conse- 
crated Mystery  in  his  hand,  with  eyes  uplifted  and  a  quivering 
excitement  in  his  whole  aspect.  Every  one  else  was  motion- 
less and  silent  too,  while  the  sunHght,  which  for  the  last 
quarter  of  an  hour  had  here  and  there  been  piercing  the  gray- 
ness,  made  fitful  streaks  across  the  convent  wall,  causing  some 
awe-stricken  spectators  to  start  timidly.  But  soon  there  was 
a  wider  parting,  and  with  a  gentle  quickness,  like  a  smile,  a 
stream  of  brightness  poured  itself  on  the  crystal  vase,  and 
then  spread  itself  over  Savonarola's  face  Avith  mild  glorifica- 
tion. 

An  instantaneous  shout  rang  though  the  Piazza,  "  Behold 
the  answer  !" 

The  warm  radiance  thrilled  through  Savonarola's  frame,  and 
so  did  the  shout.  It  was  his  last  moment  of  untroubled  tri- 
umph, and  in  its  rapturous  confidence  he  felt  carried  to  a 
grander  scene  yet  to  come,  before  an  audience  that  would  rep- 
resent all  Christendom,  in  whose  presence  he  would  again  be 


454  KOMOLA. 

Bcak'd  ns  the  messenger  of  tlie  supreme  lii^liteousness,  and 
feel  liimself  full  chargt'^l  with  Divine  6trenu[lli.  It  was  but  a 
moment  that  expaiuled  itself  in  that  prevision.  Wliile  the 
shout  was  still  rinjjjiusj;  in  his  cars  he  tunie<l  ;i\vay  within  the 
ehureh,  feeling  the  stn.iu  too  great  for  him  to  bear  it  longer. 

r>ut  when  the  Frato  had  disappeared,  and  the  sunlight 
seemed  no  longer  to  have  any  thing  speciid  in  its  illumination, 
but  was  spreading  itself  impartially  over  all  things  elean  and 
unelean,  there  began,  along  with  the  general  movement  of  the 
crowd,  a  eonfusion  of  voices  in  which  certain  strong  discords 
and  varying  scales  of  laughter  made  it  evident  that,  in  the 
j)revious  silence  and  universal  kneeling,  hostility  ami  scorn 
had  only  submitted  unwillingly  to  a  momentary  spell. 

"  It  seems  to  me  the  |)laudits  are  giving  way  to  criticism," 
said  Tito,  who  had  been  watching  the  scene  attentively  from 
an  upper  loggia  in  one  of  the  houses  opposite  the  church. 
"Nevertheless  it  was  a  striking  moment,  eh,  ?»Iesser  Pietro? 
Fra  Girolamo  is  a  man  to  make  oneimderstand  that  there  was 
a  time  when  the  monk's  frock  was  a  symbol  of  power  over 
men's  minds  rather  than  over  the  keys  of  women's  cupboards." 

"  Assuredly,"  said  Pietro  Ceiinini.  "  And  unlil  I  have  seen 
proof  that  Fra  Girolanio  has  much  less  faith  in  God's  ju<lg- 
n)ents  than  the  common  run  of  men,  instead  of  having  consid- 
erably more,  I  shall  not  believe  that  he  would  brave  Heaven 
in  this  way  if  his  soul  were  laden  with  a  conscious  lie." 


CHAPTER  LXIII. 

R  I  P  E  N  I  N  (I    SCHEMES. 

A  MOXTii  after  that  Carnival,  one  morning  near  the  end 
of  March,  Tito  descended  the  marble  ste])S  of  the  Old  Pal- 
ace, Ijound  on  a  ]>regnant  errand  to  San  Marco.  For  some 
reason  he  did  not  choose  to  take  the  direct  road,  which  was 
but  a  slightly  bent  line  from  the  Old  Palace;  he  chose  rath- 
er to  make  a  circuit  1)V  the  Piazza  di  Santa  Croce,  where  the 
people  would  be  pouring  out  of  the  church  after  the  early 
sermon. 

It  was  in  tlie  grand  church  of  Santa  Croce  t])at  the  daily 
Lenten  sermon  lia<l  of  late  had  the  largest  audience.  For 
Sa\  nnarola's  voice  had  ceased  to  Le  heard  even  in  his  own 
church  of  San  Marco,  a  hostile  Signoria  having  im])Osed  si- 
lence on  him  in  obedience  to  a  new  letter  from  the  Pope, 
threatening  the  city  with  an  immediate  interdict  if  this 
*' wretclu'd  woi-m  "  ami  "monstrous  idol"  were  not  forbidden 


KOMOLA.  455 

to  preach,  and  sent  to  demand  pardon  at  Rome.  And  next 
to  hcarinoj  Fra  Girolamo  himself  the  most  excitmo:  Lenten 
occupation  was  to  hear  hnn  argued  against  and  vilified. 
This  excitement  was  to  be  had  in  Santa  Croce,  Mdiere  the 
Franciscan  appointed  to  preach  the  Quaresimal  sermons  had 
offered  to  clench  his  arguments  by  walking  through  the  fire 
with  Fra  Girolamo.  Had  not  that  schismatical  Dominican 
gaid  that  his  prophetic  doctrine  would  be  proved  by  a  mira- 
cle at  the  fitting  time  ?  Here,  then,  Avas  the  fitting  time. 
Let  Savonarola  Avalk  through  the  fire,  and  if  he  came  out  un- 
hurt the  Divine  origin  of  liis  doctrine  would  be  demonstrated  ; 
but  if  the  fire  consumed  him  his  falsity  would  be  manifest ; 
and  that  he  naight  have  no  excuse  for  evadino;  the  test,  the 
Franciscan  declared  himself  willing  to  be  a  victim  to  this 
high  logic,  and  to  be  burned  for  the  sake  of  securing  the  nec- 
essary minor  premiss. 

Savonarola,  according  to  his  habit,  had  taken  no  notice  of 
these  pulpit  attacks.  But  it  happened  that  the  zealous  preach- 
er of  Santa  Croce  was  no  otlier  than  the  Fra  Francesco  di 
Puglia,  who  at  Prato  the  year  before  had  been  engaged  in  a 
like  challenge  with  Savonarola's  fervent  follower  Fra  Do- 
menico,  but  had  been  called  home  by  his  superiors  while  the 
heat  was  simply  oratorical.  Honest  Fra  Domenico,  then, 
who  was  preaching  Lenten  sermons  to  the  women  in  the  Via 
Cocornero,  no  sooner  heard  of  this  new  challenge  than  he 
took  up  the  gauntlet  for  his  master,  and  declared  himself 
ready  to  walk  through  the  fire  Avith  Fra  Francesco.  Already 
the  people  were  beginning  to  take  a  strong  interest  in  what 
seemed  to  them  a  short  and  easy  method  of  argument  (for 
chose  who  were  to  be  convinced),  when  Savonarola,  keenly 
alive  to  the  dangers  that  lay  in  the  mere  discussion  of  the 
case,  commanded  Fra  Domenico  to  Avithdraw  his  acceptance 
of  the  challenge  and  secede  from  the  affair.  The  Franciscan 
declared  himself  content ;  he  had  not  directed  his  challenge 
to  any  subaltern,  but  to  Fra  Girolamo  himself. 

After  that  the  popular  interest  in  the  Lenten  sermons  had 
flagged  a  little.  But  this  morning,  when  Tito  entered  the 
Piazza  di  Santa  Croce,  he  found,  as  he  expected,  that  the  peo- 
ple Avere  pouring  from  the  church  in  large  nnmbei-s.  Instead 
of  dispersing,  many  of  them  concentrated  themselves  to- 
wards a  particular  spot  near  the  entrance  of  the  Franciscan 
monastery,  and  Tito  took  the  same  direction,  threading  the 
croAvd  with  a  careless  and  leisurely  air,  but  keeping  careful 
watch  on  that  monastic  entrance,  as  if  he  expected  some  ob- 
ject of  interest  to  issue  from  it. 

It   Avas  no  such  expectation   that  occupied   the   crowd. 


^«g  rOMOLA. 

The  objc'cL  tliey  were  earinj^  aLout  was  already  visibW  tfl 
tliein  in  the  sliape  of  a  large  placard,  affixed  by  order  ol"  the 
Siijnoria,  and  covered  with  very  legible  official  liaudwritiiig. 
JiiTt  curiosity  was  somewhat  balked  by  the  liict  that  the 
iiiaiiuscript  was  chiefly  in  Latin  ;  and  though  nearly  every 
man  knew  beforehand  approxiniately  what  the  jjlacard  con- 
tained, he  hati  an  ai)i)etite  for  more  exact  knowledge,  which 
gave  him  an  irritating  sense  of  his  neighbor's  ignorance  in  not 
being  able  to  interpret  the  learned  tongue.  For  that  uural 
acquaintance  with  Latin  ])hrases  which  the  unlearned  might 
l)ick  up  from  ])ulpit  quotations  constantly  interpreted  by  the 
preacher  could  help  them  little  when  they  saw  written  Lat- 
in ;  the  spelling  even  of  the  modern  language  being  in  an  un- 
or<rani/cd  ami  scrambling  condition  for  the  mass  of  people 
who  could  read  and  write,*  and  the  majority  of  those  assem- 
bled nearest  to  the  placard  were  not  in  the  dangerous  predic- 
ament of  possessing  that  little  knowledge. 

"  It's  the  Frate\s  doctrines  that  he's  to  prove  by  being 
burned,"  said  that  large  public  character  Goro,  who  happen- 
ed to  be  among  the  foremost  gazers.  "The  Signoria  has 
taken  it  in  hand,  and  the  writing  is  to  let  us  know.  It's 
what  the  Padre  has  been  telling  us  about  in  liis  sermon." 

"  Nay,  Goro,"  said  a  sleek  shop-keeper,  compassionately, 
•'  thou  hast  got  thy  legs  into  twisted  hose  there.  TheFrate 
has  to  prove  his  doctrines  by  not  being  bnrned  :  he  is  to  walk 
througii  the  lire,  and  come  out  on  the  other  side  sound  and 
wliole." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  a  young  sculptor,  who  -wore  his  Avhito- 
streaked  cap  ami  tunic  with  a  jaunty  air.  ''  Dut  Fra  (iirolamo 
objects  to  walking  through  the  fire.  IJeing  sound  and  wh«>ld 
already,  he  sees  no  reason  why  he  should  walk  through  the 
fire  to  come  out  in  just  the  same  condition.  lie  leaves  such 
odds  and  ends  of  work  to  Fra  Domenico." 

"Then  I  say  he  flinches  like  a  coward,"  said  Goro,  in  a 
wheezy  treble.  "  Suft'ocation  !  that  was  -what  he  did  at  the 
Carnival.  lie  had  us  all  in  the  Piazza  to  see  the  liglitning 
strike  him,  and  nothing  came  of  it." 

"  Stop  that  bleating,"  said  a  tall  shoemaker,  who  had  step- 
^;)etl  in  to  hear  part  of  the  sermon,  with  bunches  of  slip))ers 
hanging  over  his  shoulders.  "  It  seems  to  me,  friend,  that 
you  are  about  as  -wise  as  a  calf  with  water  on  its  brain.  The 
Frate  will  flinch  from  nothing:  he'll  sav  nothing  beforehand, 
perhaps,  but  when  the  moment  comes  he'll  Avalk  through  the 

•  Tlic  old  Diarists  throw  in  tlicir  fonsonants  with  a  scniimlons  rearard 
rfttlu-r  to  iinaiitity  than  position,  wcl!  tyiiified  by  the  liuynolo  Bi uyhitUo 
C^gnnol'j  Gibncliu)  of  Boccuccio's  Feroudo. 


EOMOLA.  457 

fi>\3  without  asking  any  gray-frock  to  keep  him  company. 
But  I  would  give  a  shoe-string  to  know  what  this  Latin  all 
is." 

"  There's  so  much  of  it,"  said  the  shop-keeper, "  else  I'm 
pretty  good  at  guessing.  Is  there  no  scholar  to  be  seen?" 
he  added  with  a  slight  expression  of  disgust. 

There  Avas  a  general  turning  of  heads,  which  caused  the 
talkers  to  descry  Tito  approaching  in  their  rear. 

"  Here  is  one,"  said  the  young  sculptor,  smiling  and  rais- 
ing his  cap. 

"It  is  the  secretary  of  the  Ten :  he  is  going  to  the  convent, 
doubtless  ;  make  way  for  him,"  said  the  shop  keeper,  also 
doffing,  though  that  mark  of  respect  was  rarely  shown  by 
Florentines  except  to  the  highest  officials.  The  exceptional 
reverence  was  really  exacted  by  the  splendor  and  grace  of 
Tito's  api^earance,  which  made  his  black  mantle,  with  its  gold 
fibula,  look  like  a  regal  robe,  and  his  ordinary  black  velvet 
cap  like  an  entirely  exceptional  head-dress.  The  hardening 
of  his  cheeks  and  mouth,  which  was  the  chief  change  in  his 
face  since  he  came  to  Florence,  seemed  to  a  superficial  glance 
only  to  give  his  beauty  a  more  masculine  character.  He 
raised  his  own  cap  immediately  and  said. 

"  Thanks,  my  friend,  I  merely  wished,  as  you  did,  to  see 
what  is  at  the  foot  of  this  placard — ah,  it  is  as  I  expected.  I 
had  been  informed  that  the  Government  permits  any  one  who 
will  to  subscribe  his  name  as  a  candidate  to  enter  the  fire — ■ 
which  is  an  act  of  liberality  worthy  of  the  magnificent  Sig- 
noria — reserving  of  coui'sc  the  right  to  make  a  selection. 
And  doubtless  many  believers  will  be  eager  to  subscribe 
their  names.  For  what  is  it  to  enter  the  fire  to  one  whose 
faith  is  firm  ?  A  man  is  afraid  of  the  fire  because  he  believes 
it  Avillburn  him  ;  but  if  he  believes  the  contrary  ?" — here  Tito 
lifted  his  shoulders  and  made  an  oratorical  pause — "  for  which 
reason  I  have  never  been  one  to  disbelieve  the  Frate,  when 
he  has  said  that  he  would  enter  the  fire  to  prove  his  doctrine. 
For  in  his  place,  if  you  believed  the  fire  would  not  burn  you, 
which  of  you,  my  friends,  would  not  enter  it  as  readily  as 
you  would  walk  along  the  dry  bed  of  the  Mugnone  ?" 

As  Tito  looked  round  him  during  this  appeal  there  was  a 
change  in  some  of  his  audience  very  much  like  the  change  in 
an  eager  dog  when  he  is  invited  to  smell  something  pungent. 
Since  the  question  of  burning  was  becoming  practical,  it  was 
not  every  one  who  would  rashly  commit  himself  to  any  gen 
eral  view  of  the  relation  between  faith  and  fire.  The  scene 
might  have  been  too  much  for  a  gravity  less  under  command 
»iiaa  Tito's. 

20 


458  Ko.\ror,A. 

"Thou,  Mi'ssor  Segrofario,"  saitl  the  yoiui<^  sculptor,  "i4 
Beenis  to  iiu'  Fra  FraiK'csco  is  the  greater  liero,  Ibr  he  oirers 
to  enter  the  tire  lor  the  truth,  though  he  is  sure  the  tire  will 
burn  liini." 

"  I  do  not  deny  it,"  said  Tito,  Lhindly.  "  I5ut  if  it  turns 
out  that  Fra  Francesco  is  mistaken,  he  will  have  been  burned 
for  the  wrong  side,  and  the  Church  lias  never  reckoned  such 
as  martyrs.  We  must  suspend  our  judgment  until  the  trial 
has  really  taken  jjlace." 

"It  is  true,Messcr  Segretario^"  said  tlie  sliop-keeper,  with 
subdued  impatience.  "  l)Ul  will  you  favor  us  by  interpreting 
tlie  Latin  V" 

"  Assuredly,"  said  Tito.  "  It  docs  but  express  the  conclu- 
Bions  or  doctrines  Avhich  the  Frate  specially  teadies,  and 
whicli  tlie  trial  by  lire  is  to  jirove  true  or  false.  They  are 
doubtless  familiar  to  you.     First,  that  Florence — " 

"Let  lis  have  the  Latin  bit  by  bit,  and  then  tell  us  Avhat  it 
moans,"  saiil  the  shoemaker,  who  had  been  a  frequent  hearer 
of  F'ra  Girolaino. 

"  Willingly,"  said  Tito,  smiling.  "  You  will  then  judge  if 
I  give  you  tlie  right  meaning." 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  that's  fair,"  said  Goro, 

"  Ei'deda  Del  indiget  renovatione,  that  is,  the  Church  of 
God  needs  ])urifying  or  regenerating." 

"It  is  true,"  said  several  voices  at  once. 

"That  means,  the  priests  ought  to  lead  better  lives  ;  there, 
needs  no  miracle  to  prove  that.  That's  what  the  Frate  has 
always  been  saying,"  said  the  shoemaker. 

'■'■yiiir/fllahUar''  Tito  went  on.  "  That  is,  it  will  be  scourged. 
Menovuhitur :  it  M'ill  bo  purified.  I'lormtia  (ji/oqt(c  jxi^'it  Jfa- 
gelki  reiiovahitur  it  pros-jHrahitur:  Florence  also,  after  the 
scourging,  shall  be  purified  and  shall  prosper." 

"That  means,  we  are  to  get  Fisa  again,"  said  the  shop- 
keeper. 

"  And  get  the  wool  from  Fngland  as  we  used  to  do,  I 
should  hope,"  said  an  elderly  man,  in  an  old-fashioned  berret- 
ta,  who  had  been  silent  till  now.  "There's  been  scourgiug 
enough  Avith  the  sinking  of  the  trade." 

At  this  nunnent,  a  tall  ])i'rsonage,  surmounted  by  a  red 
feather,  issued  from  the  door  of  the  convent,  and  exchanged 
an  inditterent  glance  with  Tito;  who,  tossing  his  becehetto 
carelessly  over  his  left  shoulder,  turned  to  his  reading  again, 
Avhile  theby-standi'rs,  with  moi-e  timidity  thaTi  respect,  shrank 
to  make  a  passage  for  ^lesser  Dolfo  Sjiini. 

"//jA'cA  /<.s'  convcHenfttr  ad  Christum,'''  Tito  Aveiif  on.  "  Tl'Ut 
iSj  the  infidi'ls  shall  be  converted  to  Christ." 


komoLjV  459 

"  Those  are  the  Turks  and  the  Moors.  Well,  Tve  nothing 
to  say  against  that,"  said  the  shop-keeper,  dispassionately. 

"  Hmc  aiitem  omnia  erunt  temporibus  nostris — and  all  these 
things  shall  happen  in  our  times." 

""Why,  Avhat  use  would  they  be  else  ?"  said  Goro. 

'■'■  Excommimicatio  miper  lata  contra  Beverendum  Patrem 
nostrum  Fratrem  Hkromjmum  nulla  est — the  excommunica- 
tion lately  pronounced  against  our  reverend  father,  Fra  Giro- 
lamo,  is  null.  Kon  observantes  cam  non  peccant — those  who 
disregard  it  are  not  committing  a  sin." 

"  I  shall  know  better  what  to  say  to  that  when  we  have 
had  the  Trial  by  Fire,"  said  the  shop-keeper. 

"  Which  doubtless  will  clear  up  every  thing,"  said  Tito. 
"  that  is  all  the  Latin — all  the  conclusions  that  are  to  be 
proved  true  or  false  by  the  trial.  The  rest  you  can  perceive 
is  simply  a  proclamation  of  the  Signoria  in  good  Tuscan,  call- 
ing on  such  as  are  eager  to  walk  through  the  fire  to  came  to 
the  Palazzo  and  subscribe  their  names.  Can  I  serve  you  fur- 
ther?    If  not— " 

Tito  as  he  turned  away,  raised  his  cap  and  bent  slightly, 
with  so  easy  an  air  that  the  movement  seemed  a  natural 
prompting  of  deference. 

He  quickened  his  pace  as  he  left  the  Piazza,  and  after  two 
or  three  turnings  he  paused  in  a  quiet  street  before  a  door  at 
which  he  gave  a  light  and  peculiar  knock.  It  was  opened  by 
a  young  woman,  whom  he  chucked  under  the  chin  as  he  ask- 
ed her  if  the  Padrone  was  within,  and  he  then  passed,  without 
further  ceremony,  through  another  door  which  stood  ajar  on 
his  right  hand.  It  admitted  him  into  a  handsome  but  untidy 
room,  Avhere  Dolfo  Spini  sat  playing  with  a  fine  stag-hound, 
which  alternately  snuffed  at  a  basket  of  pups  and  licked  his 
hands  with  that  afiectionate  disregard  of  her  master's  morals 
which  in  the  fifteenth  century  was  felt  to  be  one  of  the  most 
agreeable  attributes  of  her  sex.  He  just  looked  up  as  Tito 
entered,  but  continued  his  play,  simply  from  that  disposition 
to  persistence  in  some  irrelevant  action,  by  which  slow-witted 
sensual  people  seem  to  be  continually  counteractmg  their 
own  purposes.     Tito  was  patient. 

"  X  handsome  bracca  that,"  he  said,  quietly,  standing  with 
nis  thumbs  in  his  belt.  Presently  he  added,  in  that  cool  liq- 
uid tone  which  seemed  mild,  but  compelled  attention, "  When 
you  have  finished  such  caresses  as  can  not  possibly  be  deferred, 
my  Dolfo,  we  will  talk  of  business,  if  you  please.  My  time, 
which  I  could  wish  to  be  eternity  at  yoiir  service,  i?  not  en- 
tirely my  own  this  morning." 

"  Down,  Mischief,  down  !"  said  Spini,  with  sudden  rough 


4G0  KOMOLA. 

ness.  "  IM.alofliction  !"  lie  added,  still  niorc  grufll y,  pushing 
the  dot;  aside;  then  starting  from  his  seat,  he  stood  close  to 
Tito,  and  i)ut  a  hand  on  his  shoulder  as  he  spoke. 

"I  liojie  your  sharp  -wits  see  all  the  ins  and  outs  of  this 
business,  niv  tine  neert)niancer,  lor  it  seems  to  me  no  clearer 
than  the  bottom  of  a  sack." 

"  What  is  your  ditticulty,  my  eavaliere  ?" 

"These  accursed  Frati  Minoii  at  Santa  Croce.  They  arc 
drawing  back  now.  Fra  Francesco  liiinself  seems  afraid  of 
sticking  to  his  challenge  ;  talks  of  the  Prophet  being  likely  to 
use  ma-nc  to  tret  ui)  a  false  miracle — thinks  he  might  be  drag- 
ged  into  the  lire  and  buiiied,  and  the  Prophet  might  come  out 
whole  by  magic,  and  the  Church  be  none  the  better.  And 
then,  after  all  our  talking,  there's  not  so  much  as  a  blessed  lay 
brother  who  will  oiler  himself  to  pair  with  that  ])ious  sheep 
Fra  Domenico.''' 

"It  is  the  peculiar  stu])idity  of  the  tonsured  skull  that  ])ro- 
vents  them  fi-om  seeing  of  how  little  consequence  it  is  wheth- 
er they  are  burned  or  not,"  said  Tito.  "  Have  you  sworn 
well  to  them  that  they  shall  be  in  no  danger  of  entering  the 
fire  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Spini,  looking  jMiz/led  ;  "  because  one  of  them 
Avill  be  obliged  to  go  in  with  Fra  Domenico,  Avho  thinks  it  a 
thousand  years  till  the  fogots  are  ready." 

"  Not  at  all.  Fra  Domenico  himself  is  not  likely  to  go  in. 
I  have  told  you  before,  my  Dolfo,  only  your  ])Owerrul  mind  is 
not  to  be  impressed  without  more  repetition  than  suftices  for 
the  vulgar — I  have  told  you  that  now  you  have  got  the  Sig- 
noria  to  take  uj)  this  afiair  and  ])revent  it  from  being  hushed 
up  by  Fia  (iiiolanid,  nothing  is  necessary  but  that  on  agiven 
day  the  fuel  should  be  prepared  in  the  Piazza,  and  the  people 
got  together  with  the  exix'ctation  of  seeing  something  ])rodig- 
io\is.  ll'aller  tliat,  the  J*ro]>liet  (piits  tlu'  l*ia//.a  without  any 
ap])eaiance  of  a  miracle  on  his  side,  he  is  r\iin(  d  \\  iili  the  peo- 
ple :  they  will  be  ready  to  ])i'lt  him  out  of  the  city,  the  Sign- 
oria  will  iind  it  easy  to  banish  him  from  the;  territory,  and  his 
Holiness  may  do  as  he  likes  with  him.  Thereforc,my  Alcibia- 
cles,  swear  to  the  Franciscans  that  their  gray  frocks  shall  iiot 
come  ^\■itlIin  singeing  distance  of  (he  fire." 

Spini  iiibbed  the  back  ofhis  head  with  one  hand,  and  ta]>- 
ped  his  sword  against  his  leg  with  the  other,  to  stimulate  his 
power  of  seeing  these  intangible  combinations. 

"  Tbit,"  hi'  said  presently,  looking  up  again,  "  unless  we  fall 
on  him  in  the  Pia/za,  when  the  ]>eo])le  are  in  a  rage,  and  make 
;iii  (lid  otliim  and  his  lies  then  and  there,  Yalori  and  the  Sal- 
via! i  ami  the  Ail)i/./.i  will  take  np  arms  and  raise  a  tight  fo* 


ROMOLA,  461 

him.  I  know  that  was  talked  of  when  there  was  the  hubbuh 
on  Ascension  Sunday.  And  the  people  may  turn  round  again : 
there  may  be  a  story  raised  of  the  French  khig  coming  again, 
or  some  other  cursed  chance  in  the  hypocrite's  favor.  The 
city  will  never  be  safe  till  he's  out  of  it." 

"He  will  be  out  of  it  before  long,  without  your  giving 
yourself  any  further  trouble  than  this  little  comedy  of  the 
Trial  by  Fire.  The  wine  and  the  sun  will  make  vinegar  with' 
ont  any  shouting  to  help  them,  as  your  Florentine  sages  would 
say.  You  will  have  the  satisfaction  of  delivering  your  city 
from  an  incubus  by  an  able  stratagem  instead  of  risking 
blunders  with  sword-thrusts." 

"  But  suppose  he  did  get  magic  and  the  devil  to  help  him, 
and  walk  through  the  lire  after  all  ?"  said  Spini,  Avith  a  grim- 
ace intended  to  hide  a  certain  shyness  in  trenching  on  this 
speculative  ground.  "  How  do  you  know  there's  nothing  in 
those  things^?  Plenty  of  scholars  believe  in  them,  and  this 
Frate  is  bad  enough  for  any  thing." 

"  Oh,  of  course"  there  are  such  things,"  said  Tito,  with  a 
shrug;  "but  I  have  particular  reasons  for  knowing  that  the 
Frate  is  not  on  such  terms  with  the  devil  as  can  give  him 
any  confidence  in  this  affair.     The  only  magic  he  relies  on  is. 
his  own  ability." 

"  Ability  !""  said  Spini.  "  Do  you  call  it  ability  to  be  set- 
ting Florence  at  loggerheads  with  the  Pope  and  all  the  pow- 
ers of  Italy — all  to  keep  beckonhig  at  the  French  king  who 
never  comes  ?  You  may  call  hun  able,  but  I  call  him  a  hyp- 
ocrite, who  wants  to  be  master  of  every  body,  and  get  him- 
self made  Po^^e." 

"  You  judge  with  your  usual  penetration,  my  captain,  but 
our  opinions  do  not  clash.  The  Frate,  wanting  to  be  master, 
and  to  carry  out  his  projects  against  the  Pope,  requires  the 
lever  of  a  foreign  power,  and  requires  Florence  as  a  fulcrum. 
I  used  to  think  him  a  narrow-minded  bigot,  but  now  I  think 
him  a  shrewd  ambitious  man  who  knoAvs  Avhat  he  is  aiming 
at,  and  directs  his  aim  as  skillfully  as  you  direct  a  ball  Avhen 
you  are  playing  at  magUoP 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Spini,  cordially, "  I  can  aim  a  ball." 

"  It  is  true,"  said  Tito,  Avith  bland  gravity  ;  "  and  I  should 
not  have  troubled  you  Avith  my  trivial  remark  on  the  Frate's 
ability,  but  that  you  may  see  how  this  will  heighten  thecred- 
it  of  your  success  against  him  at  Rome  and  at  Milan,  which 
is  sure  to  serve  you  in  good  stead  Avhen  the  city  comes  to 
change  its  policy." 

"  Well,  thou  art  a  good  little  demon,  and  shalt  have  good 
pay,"  said  Spini,  patronizingly;  Avhereupon  he    thought    it 


462  KOMOIJV. 

only  natural  tli.it  the  useful  Greek  adventurer  should  smile 
\villi  Ljiat.tiraliuu  as  he  r^aid — 

"  Of  course,  any  advantage  to  me  depends  entirely  on 
your — " 

'•  We  shall  have  our  su))per  at  my  palace  to-night,"  inter- 
rupted Spini,  Avith  a  signiticant  nod  and  an  att'ectjonate  pat 
on  Tito's  shoulder,  "  and  I  shall  expound  the  new  scheme  to 
•hem  all." 

"  Pardon,  my  magnificent  patron,"  said  Tito  ;  "  the  scheme 
has  been  the  same  from  the  first — it  has  never  varied  except 
in  your  memory.  Are  you  sure  you  have  fast  hold  of  it 
now  V" 

Spini  rehearsed. 

"  One  thing  more,"  ho  ^aid,  as  Tito  was  hastening  away. 
"There  is  that  sliar]i-nosed  notary,  Ser  Cecoiie  ;  he  has  lieen 
handy  of  latt-.  'IVil  nu',  you  who  can  see  a  man  wink  when 
you'i'c  behind  him,  do  you  think  1  may  go  on  making  use  of 
him  ?" 

Tito  dared  not  say  "  no."     He  knew  his  companion  too 
well  to  trust  him  with  advice  when  all  Sjnni's  vanity  and  self- 
interest  were  not  engaged  in  concealinir  the  adviser. 
,     "  Doubtless,"  he  answered,  promptly.     "  I  have  nothing 
to  say  against  Cecoiie." 

That  suggestion  of  the  notary's  intimate  access  to  Spini 
causcfl  Tito  a  passing  twinge,  interrupting  his  amused  satis- 
faction in  the  success  Avith  Avhich  he  made  a  tool  of  the  man 
who  fancied  himself  a  patron.  For  lie  had  been  rather  afraid 
of  Ser  Cecone.  Tito's  nature  made  him  peculiarly  alive  to 
circumstances  that  might  bo  turned  to  his  disadvantage  ;  his 
.memory  was  much  haunti-d  by  such  iH)ssibilitics,  stiniulating 
him  to  contrivances  by  which  he  might  Avard  them  oft'.  AikI 
it  Avas  not  likely  that  he  should  forget  that  October  morning 
more  than  a  year  ago,  Avhen  Komola  had  a]i))eare(l  suddenly 
before  him  at  the  door  of  Nello's  shop,  atul  had  compelled 
him  to  declare  his  certainty  that  Fra  (Tirolamo  Avasnot  going 
outside  the  gates.  The  fact  that  Scr  Ceccone  had  been  a  wit- 
ness of  that  scene,  together  with  Tito's  perception  that  lor 
some  reason  or  other  lie  Avas  an  object  of  dislike  to  the  nota- 
ry, h.ud  received  a  new  imjiortance  from  the  recent  turn  of 
events.  For  after  having  been  implicated  in  the  Medicean 
plots,  and  found  it  a<lvisable  in  const'quence  to  retire  into  the 
country  for  some  time,  Scr  Ceccone  had  of  late,  since  his  reap- 
pearance in  the  city,  attached  himsell'to  the  Arrabbiati,  and 
cultivatetl  the  ji.atronage  ul'  Dolii  Spini.  Now  that  captain 
of  the  Compagnacci  Avas  much  given,  Avhen  in  the  com- 
pany of  intimates,  to  confidential  narrative  about  his  OAvn 


ROMOLA.  463 

doings,  and  if  Ser  Ceccone's  powers  of  combination  were 
sharpen{?d  by   enmity,  he    might    gather   some    knowledge 
which  he  could  use  against  Tito  with  very  unpleasant  re 
suits. 

It  would  be  pitiable  to  be  balked  in  well-conducted 
schemes  by  an  iusiguiticaut  notary  ;  to  be  lamed  by  the  sting  of 
an  insect  whom  he  had  ottended  unawares.  "  But,"  Tito  said  to 
himself,  "  the  man's  dislike  to  me  can  be  nothing  deeper  than 
the  ill-hnmor  of  a  dinnerless  dog  ;  I  shall  conquer  it  if  I  can 
make  him  prosperous,"  And  he  had  been  very  glad  of  an 
opportunity  wliich  had  presented  itself  of  providing  the  no- 
taiy  with  a  temporary  post  as  an  extra  cancelUere  or  register- 
ing secretary  under  the  Ten,  believing  that  with  this  sop  and 
the  expectation  of  more,  the  waspish  cur  must  be  quite  cured 
of  the  disposition  to  bite  him. 

But  perfect  scheming  demands  omniscience,  and  the  nota- 
ry's envy  had  been  stimulated  into  hatred  by  causes  of  which 
Tito  knew  nothing.  That  evening  when  Tito,  returning  from 
his  critical  audience  with  the  Special  Council,  had  brushed 
by  Ser  Ceccone  on  the  stairs,  the  notary,  who  had  only  just 
returned  from  Pistoja,  and  learned  the  arrest  of  the  conspira- 
tors, was  bound  on  an  errand  which  bore  a  humble  resem- 
blance to  Tito's.  lie  also,  without  giving  up  a  show  of  pop- 
ular zeal,  had  been  putting  in  the  Medicean  lottery.  He  also 
had  been  privy  to  the  unexecuted  plot,  and  was  willing  to  tell 
what  he  knew,  but  knew  much  less  to  tell.  He  also  would 
have  been  willing  to  go  on  treacherous  errands,  but  a  more 
eligible  agent  had  forestalled  him.  His  propositions  were  re- 
ceived coldly  ;  the  council,  he  Avas  told,  was  already  in  pos- 
session of  the  needed  information,  and  since  he  had  been  thus 
busy  in  sedition,  it  would  be  well  for  him  to  retire  out  of 
the  way  of  mischief,  otherwise  the  Government  miglit  be 
obliged  to  take  note  of  him.  Ser  Ceccone  wanted  no  evi- 
dence to  make  him  attribute  his  foilure  to  Tito,  and  his  spite 
was  the  more  bitter  because  the  nature  of  the  case  compelled 
him  to  hold  his  peace  about  it.  Xor  was  this  the  whole  of 
his  grudge  against  the  flourishing  Melema.  On  issuing  from 
his  hiding-place,  and  attaching  himself  to  the  Arrabbiati,  he 
had  earned  some  pay  as  one  of  the  spies  who  reported  infor- 
mation on  Florentine  affairs  to  the  Milanese  court ;  but  his 
pay  had  been  small,  notwithstanding  his  pains  to  write  full 
letters,  and  he  had  lately  been  apprised  that  his  news  was  sel- 
dom more  than  a  late  and  imperfect  edition  of  what  was  known 
already.  Xow  Ser  Ceccone  had  no  positive  knowledge  that 
Tito  had  an  underhand  connection  with  the  Arrabbiati  and 
the  Court  of  Milan,  but  he  had  a  suspicion  of  which  he  chewed 


404  ROMOLA. 

tiK'  nid  witli  as  strong  a  sense  of  ilavor  as  if  it  had  been  a 
certainty. 

This  line-ujrown  vigorous  lintred  could  swallow  the  feeble 
opiate  of  Tito's  favors,  and  be  as  lively  as  ever  alU'r  it. 
Why  should  Ser  C'eceone  like  Melenia  any  the  better  for  tloing 
hini  favors  V  Doubtless  the  suave  secretary  liad  his  own 
ends  to  serve  ;  and  what  right  had  he  to  the  svqterior  position 
which  mado  it  possible  for  him  to  show  favor?  Dut  since 
'ne  had  tuned  his  voice  to  fiattery  Ser  Ceccone  would  )»itch 
his  in  the  same  key,  and  it  remained  to  be  seen  who  would 
win  at  the  game  of  outwitting. 

To  have,  a  mind  well  (jiled  with  that  sort  of  argument 
which  prevents  any  claim  from  grasping  it  seems  eminently 
convenient  sometimes;  only  the  oil  becomes  objectionable 
when  we  find  it  anointing  other  minds  on  which  we  want 
to  establish  a  hold. 

Tito,  however,  not  being  quite  omniscient,  felt  now  no 
more  than  a  ))assing  twinge  of  uneasiness  at  the  suggestion  of 
»Ser  Ceccone's  power  to  hurt  him.  It  was  only  ihi  a  little 
wliilc  that  he  cared  greatly  about  keeping  clear  o/ suspicions 
and  hostility.  lie  was  now  ])laymg  his  tinal  gan^.'  in  Flor- 
ence, and  the  skill  he  was  conscious  of  applying  gave  him  a 
])leasure  in  it  even  apart  from  the  expected  winnings.  The 
errand  on  wbich  he  was  bent  to  San  iMarco  was  a  stroke  in 
which  he  felt  so  much  confidence  that  he  had  already  given 
notice  to  tlie  Ten  of  his  desire  to  resign  his  othce  at  an  m- 
definite  period  within  the  next  month  or  two,  and  had  ob- 
tained permission  to  make  that  resignation  su<hlenly,  if  his 
affairs  needed  it,  with  the  understanding  that  Niccolo  ]\Iac- 
chiavelli  was  to  be  his  provisional  substitute,  it  not  his  suc- 
cessor. He  was  acting  on  hypothetic  grounds,  but  ttiis  was 
the  sort  of  action  that  had  the  keeni-st  interest  ior  his  diplo- 
matic mind.  From  a  combination  of  general  knowledge  con- 
cerning Savonarola's  purposes  with  diligently  observed  de- 
tails he  had  framed  a  conjecture  which  he  wa?  i\bout  to  ver- 
ify by  this  visit  to  San  Marco.  If  he  ])rover(  to  l)e  right 
his  game  woidd  be  won,  and  he  might  soon  turn  his  Itack  on 
Florence,  lie  looked  eagerly  towards  that  consummation, 
for  many  circumstances  besides  his  own  ■weariness  of  the 
place  told  him  that  it  was  time  for  him  to  b  •  roae. 


KOMOLA.  465 


CHAPTER  LXIV. 

THE    PROPHET    IN    HIS    CELL. 

Tito's  visit  to  San  Marco  had  been  announced  beforehand, 
and  he  was  at  once  conducted  by  Fra  Niccolo,  Savonarola's 
secretary,  up  the  spiral  staircase  into  the  long  corridors  lined 
Avith  cells — corridors  where  Fra  Angelico's  frescoes,  delicate 
as  the  rainbow  on  the  melting  cloud,  startled  the  unaccus- 
tomed eye  here  and  there,  as  if  they  had  been  sudden  reflec- 
tions cast  from  an  ethereal  world,  where  the  Madonna  sat 
crowned  in  her  radiant  glory,  and  the  divine  infant  looked 
forth  Avith  perpetual  promise. 

It  was  an  hour  of  relaxation  in  the  monastery,  and  most 
of  the  cells  Avere  empty.  The  light  through  the  narroAV  Avin- 
dows  looked  in  on  nothing  but  bare  Avails,  and  the  hard  pal- 
let, and  the  crucifix.  And  even  behind  that  door  at  the  end 
of  a  long  corridor,  in  the  inner  cell  opening  from  an  ante- 
chamber where  the  Prior  usually  sat  at  his  desk  or  received 
private  visitors,  the  high  jet  of  light  fell  on  only  one  more 
object  that  looked  quite  as  common  a  monastic  sight  as  the 
bare  Avails  and  hard  pallet.  It  Avas  but  the  back  of  a  fig- 
ure in  the  long  Avhite  Dominican  tunic  and  scapulary,  kneel- 
ing with  bowed  head  before  a  crucifix.  It  might  have  been 
any  ordinary  Fra  Girolamo,  Avho  had  nothing  Avorse  to  confess 
than  thinking  of  wrong  things  Avhcn  he  Avas  singing  in 
coro,  or  feeling  a  spiteful  joy  Avhen  Fra  Benedetto  dropped 
the  ink  over  his  oAvn  miniatures  in  the  breviary  he  Avas  illu- 
minatino; — Avho  had  no  hio-her  thought  than  that  of  climbing 
safely  into  paradise  uj)  the  narroAV  ladder  of  jDrayer,  fasting, 
and  obedience.  But  under  this  particular  Avhite  tunic  there 
Avas  a  heart  beating  Avith  a  consciousness  inconceiA-able  to  the 
average  monk,  and  ])erha])S  hard  to  be  conceived  by  any  man 
Avho  has  not  arrived  at  self-knoAvledge  through  a  tumultuous 
inner  life :  a  consciousness  in  which  irrevocable  errors  and 
lapses  from  veracity  Avere  so  entwined  Avith  noble  purposes 
and  sincere  belief,  in  which  self-justifying  expediency  Avas  so 
inwoven  Avith  the  tissue  of  a  great  Avork  which  the  whole  be- 
ing seemed  as  unable  to  abandon  as  the  body  Avas  unable  to 
abandon  gloAving  and  trembling  before  the  objects  of  hope 
and  fear,  that  it  was  perhaps  impossible,  whatCA'er  course 
might  be  adopted,  for  the  conscience  to  find  perfect  repose. 

Savonarola  Avas  not  only  in  the  attitude  of  prayer,  there 

20* 


406  KOMOLA. 

wcrt"  [/itiii  words  ot  jivaycr  on  liis  lips,  and  yot  lio  was  not 
prayiiii;.  He  liad  cnti-rcd  his  ceil,  IkuI  lalleu  on  his  knees, 
an<l  hurst  into  words  of  supplication,  seekintij  in  this  way  for 
an  inilux  of  calmness  wliicli  would  he  a  warrant  to  him  tliut 
tlic  resolutions  urijed  on  him  by  crowdint;  thouLijhts  and  i)as- 
sions  were  not  wresting-  him  away  from  the  Divine  suj)})ort ; 
but  the  previsions  and  impulses  whicli  had  been  at  work 
within  liim  for  tlie  last  liour  weie  too  im}ieriovis  ;  and  while  ho 
pressed  his  hands  against  his  lace,  and  while  his  lips  were  ut- 
tering audibly, "  Cor  niundum  crea  in  me,"  Ids  mind  was  still 
filled  with  the  images  of  the  snare  liis  enemies  had  i)re])ared 
for  him,  was  still  busy  M'ith  the  arguments  by  which  ho  could 
iustifv  himself  atirainst  their  taunts  and  accusations. 

And  it  was  not  only  against  his  opponents  that  Savonaro- 
la had  to  flefend  hinjself.  This  morning  he  had  had  new 
proof  that  his  friends  and  followers  were  as  much  inclined  to 
urge  on  tlie  trial  by  fire  as  his  enemies ;  desiiing  and  tacitly 
expecting  that  he  hiniself  would  at  last  accept  the  challenge, 
and  evoke  the  long-expected  miracle  which  was  to  dissi])ate 
doubt  and  triumph  over  nuvlignity.  Had  he  not  said  that 
God  would  declare  Himself  at  the  fitting  time  ?  And  to  the 
understanding  of  plain  Florentines,  eager  to  get  ])arty  ques- 
tions settled,  it  seenu'd  that  no  time  could  be  more  fitting 
than  this.  Certaiidy,  if  Fra  Domenico  walked  through  tho 
tire  unhurt,  M^^?!  would  be  a  miracle,  and  the  faith  and  ardor 
of  tiiat  tjood  brother  were  i'elt  to  be  a  cheerinEf  aui^urv  ;  but 
Savonarola  was  acutely  conscious  that  the  secret  longing  ot 
his  followers  to  see  him  accept  the  challenge  had  not  been 
dissipated  by  any  reasons  he  had  given  for  his  refusal. 

Yet  it  was  impossible  to  him  to  satisfy  them  ;  and  with 
bitter  distress  he  saw  now  that  it  was  impossible  for  him 
any  longer  to  resist  the  prosecution  of  the  trial  in  Fra  I)o- 
menico's  case.  Not  that  Savonarola  had  uttered  and  written 
a  falsity  when  he  declai-ed  his  belief  in  a  i'uture  supernatural 
attestation  of  his  work;  but  his  mind  Mas  so  constituted 
that  while  it  was  easy  for  him  to  believe  in  a  luiracle  which, 
being  distant  and  uudelined,  was  screened  behind  the  strong 
reasons  lie  saw  for  its  occurrence,  and  yet  easier  for  him  to 
have  a  belief  in  inward  miracles  such  as  his  own  jirophetio 
inspiration  and  divinely  wrought  intuitions;  it  was  at  the 
same  time  insurmountably  ditficult  to  him  to  believe  in  the 
probal)ility  of  a  miracle  which,  like  this  of  being  carried  un- 
hurt through  the  fire,  ])ressc(l  in  all  its  details  on  his  imagi- 
nation and  involved  a  demand  not  only  ibr  belief  Init  for  ex- 
ceptional action, 

Savonarola's  nature  was  one  of  those  in  which  opposing 


ROMOLA.  467 

tentlencies  coexist  in  almost  equal  strength :  the  passionate 
sensibility  which,  impatient  of  definite  thought,  floods  every 
idea  with  emotion  and  tends  towards  contemplative  ecstasy, 
alternated  in  hmi  with  a  keen  perception  of  outward  facts 
and  a  vigorous  practical  judgment  of  men  and  things.  And 
in  this  case  of  the  Trial  by  Fire,  the  latter  characteristics 
were  stimulated  into  unusual  activity  by  an  acute  physical 
sensitiveness  which  gives  overpowering  Ibrce  to  the  concep- 
tion of  pain  and  destruction  as  a  necessary  sequence  of  facts 
which  have  already  been  experienced  as  causes  of  pain.  The 
readiness  with  which  men  will  consent  to  touch  red-hot  iron 
with  a  wet  finger  is  not  to  be  measured  by  their  theoretic  ac- 
ceptance of  the  impossibility  that  the  iron  will  burn  them : 
practical  belief  depends  on  Mhat  is  most  strong]}^  represent- 
ed in  the  mind  at  a  given  moment.  And  with  the  Frate's 
constitution,  when  the  Trial  by  Fire  was  urged  on  his  imagi- 
nation as  an  immediate  demand,  it  was  impossible  for  him  to 
believe  that  he  or  any  other  man  could  walk  through  the 
flames  unhurt — impossible  for  him  to  believe  that  even  if  he  re- 
solved to  ofier  himself  he  would  not  shrink  at  the  last  mo- 
ment. 

But  the  Florentines  were  not  likely  to  make  these  fine  dis- 
tinctions. To  the  common  run  of  mankind  it  has  always  seem^ 
ed  a  proof  of  mental  vigor  to  find  moral  questions  easy,  and 
judge  conduct  according  to  concise  alternatives.  And  noth- 
ing was  likely  to  seem  plainer  than  that  a  man  who  at  one 
time  declared  that  God  would  not  leave  him  without  the  guai*- 
anty  of  a  miracle,  and  yet  drew  back  when  it  was  proposed 
to  test  his  declaration,  liad  said  what  he  did  not  believe. 
Were  not  Fra  Domenico  and  Fra  Mariano,  and  scores  of  Piag- 
noni  besides,  ready  to  enter  the  fire?  What  was  the  cause 
of  their  superior  courage,  if  it  was  not  tlieir  superior  faith  ? 
Savonarola  could  not  have  explained  his  conduct  satisfactorily 
to  his  friends,  even  if  he  had  been  able  to  explain  it  thorough- 
ly to  himself.  And  he  was  not.  Our  naked  feelings  make 
haste  to  clothe  themselves  in  propositions  which  lie  at  hand 
among  our  store  of  opinions,  and  to  give  a  true  account  of 
what  passes  within  us  something  else  is  necessary  besides 
sincerity,  even  when  sincerity  is  unmixed.  In  these  very  mo- 
ments, Avhen  Savonarola  was  kneeling  in  audible  prayer,  he 
had  ceased  to  hear  the  words  on  his  lips.  They  were  di'owned 
by  argumentative  voices  within  him  that  shaped  their  reasons 
more  and  more  for  an  outward  audience. 

"  To  appeal  to  Heaven  for  a  miracle  by  a  rash  acceptance 
of  a  challenge,  which  is  a  mere  snare  prepared  for  me  by  igno- 
ble foes,  would  be  a  tempting  of  God,  and  the  appeal  woiUd 


*68  ROMOLA, 

not  1)0  n'spondcd  to.  Lei  the  Pope's  Icijate  come,  let  tlie  enr 
bassudors  of  till  the  cjivat  l*o\vers  eoiiie  aiul  promise  tliat  tiia 
calling  of  u  (ieneral  Council  and  the  reform  of  the  Ciiurch 
shall  liang  on  (lie  miracle,  ami  I  will  enter  the  Hamcs,  trusting 
that  (iod  will  not  withhold  His  seal  from  that  great  work. 
Until  then  I  reserve  myself  for  higher  duties  whicii  are  direct- 
ly laid  upon  me:  it  is  not  jjermitted  to  me  to  leaji  from  the 
chariot  for  the  sake  of  wrestling  with  every  loud  vaunter. 
But  Fra  Domenico's  invincible  zeal  to  enter  into  the  trial  may 
be  the  sign  of  a  Divine  vocation,  may  be  a  pledge  that  the 
miracle — " 

lint  no  !  Avhcn  Savonarola  brought  Ids  mind  close  to  the 
threatened  scene  in  the  Piazza,  and  imagined  a  human  body 
entering  the  lire,  his  belief  recoiled  again.  It  was  not  an  event 
that  ids  imagination  coulds  imjily  see:  lie  felt  it  with  shud- 
dering vibrations  to  the  extrenuties  of  his  sensitive  iingers. 
The  miracle  could  not  be.  Nay,  the  trial  itself  was  not  to 
liappen:  he  Avas  warranted  in  doing  all  in  his  ]towcr  to  hin- 
der it.  The  fuel  might  be  got  ready  in  the  Piazza,  the  peo- 
ple might  be  assembled,  the  pre])aratory  formalities  might  be 
gone  thi'ough  :  all  this  was  pt'rliaps  inevitable  now,  and  he 
could  no  louLTPr  resist  it  without  bringing  dishonor  on — him- 
self?  Yes,  and  therefore  on  the  cause  of  God.  But  U  was  not 
really  intended  that  the  Franciscan  should  enter  the  fire,  and 
while  lie  hung  back  there  would  be  tlie  means  of  preventing 
Fra  Domenico's  enti-ance.  At  the  very  worst,  if  1'  ra  Domen- 
ico  were  compelled  to  enter,  lie  should  carry  the  consecrated 
Host  with  him,  and  Avith  that  ]Myster3-  in  his  hand,  there 
might  be  a  Avarrant  for  expecting  that  the  oidinary  elVects 
of  lire  Avould  be  stayed ;  or,  more  probably,  tliis  demand 
Avould  be  resisted,  and  nught  thus  be  a  final  obstacle  to  the 
trial. 

But  these  intentions  could  not  be  avowed  :  he  must  appear 
frankly  to  await  the  trial,  and  to  trust  in  its  issue.  Thatdis- 
sidence  between  inward  reality  and  outward  seeming  was 
not  the  Christian  simjtlicity  alter  Avhich  he  had  striven  through 
years  of  his  youth  and  ])rime,  and  Avhicli  he  had  preached  as 
a  chief  iruit  of  the  ])ivinelife.  In  the  stress  an<l  heat  of  tlio 
day,  Avith  cheeks  burning,  with  shouts  ringing  in  the  ears,  avIio 
is  so  blest  as  to  remember  the  yearnings  he  had  in  the  cool 
and  silent  morning,  and  knoAV  that  he  has  not  belied  them  ? 

"  O  (Jod,  it  is  for  the  sake  of  the  peo])le — because  (hey  are 
blind — because  their  I'aith  depends  on  me.  If  I  ]int  on  sack- 
cloth and  cast  myself  among  the  ashes,  Avho  Avill  take  up  the 
standard  and  head  the  battle?  Have  I  not  been  led  by  a 
way  Avhich  I  ki.cw  not  to  the  Avork  that  lies  befoiv  me? 


ROMOLA.  4C;9 

The  conflict  was  one  that  could  not  end,  and  in  the  effort 
at  prayerful  pleading-  the  uneasy  mind  laved  its  smart  con^ 
tiuually  in  thoughts  of  the  greatness  of  that  task  which  there 
was  no  man  else  to  fulfill  if  he  forsook  it.  It  Avas  not  a  thing 
of  every  day  that  a  man  should  be  inspired  with  the  vision 
and  the  daring  that  made  a  sacred  rebel. 

Even  the  words  of  prayer  had  died  away.  He  contin* 
ued  to  kneel,  but  his  mind  was  filled  with  the  images  of  re- 
sults to  be  felt  through  all  Europe ;  and  the  sense  of  in> 
:nediate  difficulties  was  being  lost  in  the  glow  of  that 
vision,  wlien  the  knocking  at  the  door  announced  the  expect- 
ed visit. 

Savonarola  drew  ^n  his  mantle  before  he  left  his  cell,  aa 
was  hi.'-  .'-ustoni  wlien  he  received  visitors ;  and  Avith  that  im- 
mediate response  to  any  appeal  from  without  Avhich  belongs 
to  a  power-loving  nature  accustomed  to  make  its  power  felt 
by  speech,  he  met  Tito  with  a  glance  as  self-possessed  and 
strong  as  if  he  had  risen  from  resolution  instead  of  conflict. 

Tito  did  not  kneel,  but  simply  made  a  greeting  of  pro- 
found deference,  which  Savonarola  received  quietly  without 
any  sacerdotal  words,  and  then  desiring  him  to  be  seated,  said 
at  once, 

"  Your  business  is  something  of  Aveight,  my  son,  that  could 
not  be  conA'eyed  through  others  ?'' 

"  Assuredly,  father,  else  I  should  not  have  presumed  to  ask 
it.  I  will  not  trespass  on  your  time  by  any  proem.  I  gath- 
ered from  a  remark  of  Messer  Domenico  Mazzinghi  that  you 
miglit  be  glad  to  make  use  of  the  next  special  courier  Avho  is 
sent  to  France  Avitli  dispatches  from  the  Ten.  I  must  entreat 
you  to  pardon  me  if  I  have  been  too  officious ;  but  inasmuch 
as  Messer  Domenico  is  at  this  moment  away  at  his  A'illa,  I 
Avished  to  apprise  you  that  a  courier  carrying  important  let- 
ters is  about  to  dejiart  for  Lyons  at  daybreak  to-morroAv." 

The  muscles  of  Era  Girolamo's  face  were  eminently  under 
command,  as  mvist  be  the  case  Avith  all  men  Avhose  personali- 
ty is  poAverful,  and  in  deliberate  speech  he  Avas  habitually 
cautious,  confiding  his  intentions  to  none  AA-ithout  necessity. 
But  under  any  strong  mental  stimulus  his  eyes  Avere  liable 
:o  a  dilation  and  added  brilliancy  that  no  strength  of  Avill 
30uld  control.  He  looked  steadily  at  Tito,  and  did  not  an- 
swer immediately,  as  if  he  had  to  consider  whether  the  infor 
mation  he  had  just  heard  met  any  ])urpose  of  his. 

Tito,  Avhose  glance  never  seemed  observant,  but  rarely  let 
any  thing  escape  it,  had  expected  precisely  that  dilation  and 
flash  of  SaA'cnarola's  eyes  Avliicli  he  had  noted  on  other  occa- 
sions,    lie  saAV  it,  and  then  immediately  busied  himself  \d  ad- 


4Vf^  ROMOi.A. 


Justin;]^  Ills  i^old  fihiiln,  wliicli  IkkI  j^ot  wronoj;  soemiiiij  to  im 
j»ly  tlial  lie  :i\v:iitc'<l  ;in  answer  |iatii'ntly. 

The  iuc-t  was  tliat  Savonarola  had  expected  to  receive  tliis 
intimalioii  from  Donu'iiico  .Maz/.iii<;hi,  f»nc  of  the  Ten,  an  ar- 
dent. disei]ili>  of  liis,  w  honi  he  liad  already  eni])loyed  to  write 
a  private  letter  to  the  Florentine  ambassador  in  France,  to 
prepare  the  way  for  a  letter  to  the  French  kinii:  himself  in 
Stivonarola's  handwritinir,  which  now  lay  ready  in  the  desk 
at  his  side.  It  was  a  letter  callin-^  on  the  king  to  assist  in 
summoning  a  General  Council,  that  might  reform  the  abuses 
of  the  Chuicli,  and. begin  bv  deposing  Po])e  Alexander,  who 
was  not  light  fully  I'ope,  being  a  vicious  unbeliever,  elected 
by  corruption,  and  governing  by  simonv. 

'l'I)is  fact  was  not  what  Tito  knew,  but  M'hat  liis  liypotliet- 
ic  talent,  constructing  from  subtle  indications,  had  led  him  to 
guess  and  hope. 

"  It  is  true,  my  son,"  said  Savonarola,  quietly.  "It  is  true 
I  have  letters  which  T  would  gladly  send  liy  safe  conveyance 
undercover  to  our  ambassador.  Our  conununity  of  San  Mar- 
co, as  you  know,  has  affairs  in  France,  being,  among  other 
things  responsible  for  a  debt  to  that  singularly  wise  and  expe- 
rienced Frenchman,  Signor  Phili])pe  de  Coniines,  on  the  libra- 
ry of  the  ]\Iedici,  which  we  jnii-cliased  ;  but  I  apprehend  that 
Domenico  Mazzinghi  liimself  may  return  to  the  city  before 
evening,  aiul  I  should  gain  nu)re  tinu'  for  ))re])aration  of  the 
letters  if  I  waited  to  :le])osit  them  in  his  hands." 

"Assuredly,  reverend  fatlu'r,  that  might  be  better  on  all 
grounds  exccjit  one,  namely,  that  if  any  thing  occurix'd  to  hin- 
der ]Messer  Domenico's  I'eturn,  the  dispatch  of  the  letters 
would  ri'(|uire  either  that  I  should  coini'  to  San  ]M;irco  again 
at  a  late  hour,  or  that  you  should  send  them  to  nie  by  your 
secretary  ;  ami  1  am  aware  that  you  wish  to  guartl  against  the 
false  iiderences  which  might  be  drawn  from  a  too  frequent 
communication  between  yourself  and  any  officer  of  tin;  Gov- 
ernment." In  throwing  out  this  difficulty  Tito  felt  that  the 
more  unwillingiu'ss  the  Frate  showed  to  trust  him,  the  nu)re 
certain  he  wnuhl  be  of  his  conjecture. 

Savonarola  was  silent ;  but  while  he  ke]it  his  mouth  firm 
a  slight  glow  rose  in  his  face  with  the  sup])ressed  excitenu'ut 
that  was  growing  within  him.  It  would  be  a  critical  monu'nt 
— that  in  which  he  delivered  the  letter  out  of  his  own  hands. 

"  It  is  most  probable  that  ^lesser  Douu'iiico  will  return  in 
time,"  said  Tito,  affecting  to  considei-  the  Frate's  determina- 
tion set  tied,  and  rising  from  his  chair  as  he  sjioke.  '"  \\  ith 
your  permission  I  will  take  my  leave,  father,  not  to  trespass 
on  your  time  when  my  errand  is  done;  but  as  I  may  not  b« 


ROM  OLA.  471 

fjivored  Avitli  another  interview,  I  venture  to  confide  to  you 
what  is  not  yet  known  to  others  except  to  the  magnificent 
Ten,  that  I  contemplate  resigning  my  secretaryship,  and  leav 
ing  Florence  shortly.  Am  I  presuming  too  much  on  yourin> 
terest  in  stating  what  relates  chielly  to  myself?" 

"Speak  on,  ray  son,"  said  the  Frate,  ''I  desire  to  know 
your  prospects." 

"  I  find,  then,  that  I  have  mistaken  my  real  vocation  in 
forsaking  the  career  of  pure  letters,  for  Avhich  I  was  brought 
uj).  The  politics  of  Florence,  father,  are  Avorthy  to  occupy 
the  greatest  mind — to  occupy  yours — when  a  man  is  in  a 
position  to  execute  his  own  ideas  ;  but  when,  like  me,  he  can 
only  hope  to  be  the  mere  instrument  of  changing  schemes, 
he  requires  to  be  animated  by  the  minor  attachments  of  a 
born  Florentine  :  also  my  wife's  unhappy  alienation  from  a 
Florentine  residence  since  the  painful  events  of  August  nat- 
urally influences  me.     I  wish  to  join  her." 

Savonarola  inclined  his  head  approvingly. 

"  I  intend,  then,  soon  to  leave  Florence,  to  visit  the  chief 
cou7-ts  of  Europe,  and  to  widen  my  acquaintance  with  the 
men  of  letters  in  the  various  universities.  1  shall  go  first  to 
the  court  of  Hungary,  where  scholars  are  eminently  welcome; 
and  I  shall  probably  start  in  a  week  or  ten  days.  I  have  not 
concealed  from  you,  father,  that  I  am  no  religious  enthusiast ; 
I  have  not  my  wife's  ardor;  but  religious  enthusiasm, as  I 
conceive,  is  not  necessary  in  order  to  appreciate  the  grandeur 
and  justice  of  your  views  concerning  the  government  of  na- 
tions and  the  Church.  And  if  you  condescend  to  intrust 
me  with  any  commission  that  will  further  the  relations  you 
wish  to  establish  I  shall  feel  honored.  May  I  now'  take  my 
leave?" 

"  Stay,  my  son.  When  you  depart  from  Florence  I  will 
send  a  letter  to  your  wife,  of  whose  spiritual  welfare  I  Avould 
fain  be  assured,  for  she  left  me  in  anger.  As  for  the  letters 
to  France,  such  as  I  have  ready — " 

Savonarola  rose  and  turned  to  his  desk  as  he  spoke.  He 
took  from  it  a  letter  on  which  Tito  could  see,  but  not  read, 
an  address  in  the  Frate's  own  minute  and  exquisite  hand- 
writing, still  to  be  seen  covering  the  margins  of  his  Bibles. 
He  took  a  large  sheet  of  paper,  inclosed  the  letter,  and  seal- 
ed it. 

"Pardon  me,  father,"  said  Tito,  before  Savonarola  had  time 
to  speak,  "  unless  it  were  your  decided  wish,  I  wovdd  rather 
not  incur  the  responsibility  of  carrying  away  the  letter.  Mes- 
ser  Domenico  Mazzinfrhi  will  doubtless  reti;rn,or,  if  not,  Fra 
Niccolo  can  convey  it  to  me  at  the  second  hour  of  the  even' 


472  ROMOLA. 

in<;,  wlion  I  sliall  place  the  other  dispatches  in  the  coiirier'a 
Laruls.'' 

"At  present,  my  son,"  said  tlie  Fratc,  Avaiving  that  point, 
"I  wish  yon  to  acMivss  this  packet  to  our  ambassador  in 
your  t)\vn  liaudwriting,  -wiiicli  is  preferable  to  my  secre- 
tary's." 

Tito  sat  down  to  write  tlie  address  Avliile  the  Frate  stood 
by  liim  with  lokled  arms,  tlie  glow  mounting  in  his  cheek,  and 
his  lip  at  last  quivering.  Tito  rose  and  was  about  to  move 
away,  when  Savonarola  said,  abruptly, 

"Take  it,  my  son.  There  is  no  use  in  waiting.  It  does 
not  please  me  that  Fra  Xiccolo  should  have  needless  errands 
to  the  Palazzo." 

As  Tito  took  the  letter  Savonarola  stood  in  suppressed  ex- 
citement that  forbade  furtlier  s]»eech.  There  seems  to  be  a 
subtle  emanation  Irom  passionate  natures  like  his,  making 
their  mental  states  tell  immediately  on  others;  when  they 
are  absent-minded  and  inwardly  excited  there  is  silence  in 
the  air. 

Tito  made  a  deep  reverence,  and  went  out  with  the  letter 
under  his  niantle. 

The  letter  was  duly  delivered  to  the  courier  and  carried 
out  of  Florence.  But  before  that  happened  another  messen- 
ger, privately  employed  by  Tito,  liad  conveyed  information  in 
cipher,  which  was  carried  by  a  series  of  relays  to  ai'med 
agents  of  Ludovico  Sfoi-za,  Duke  of  Milan,  on  the  watch  for 
the  very  purpose  of  intercepting  dispatches  on  thebordtu-s  of 
the  Milanese  territory. 


CHAPTER   LXV. 

T  IT  1^      T  n  I  A  L      n  V      F  I  n  E  . 

LiTTLK  more  than  a  week  after,  on  the  seventh  of  A])rJ\  tho 
great  Piazza  della  Signoria  |)resenTed  a  stranger  spectacle  even 
tlian  the  famous  IJonlire  of  Vanities.  .And  a  greater  nniiti- 
tude  had  assembled  to  see  it  than  had  ever  before  tried  to  find 
})lace  for  themselves  in  the  wide  Piazza,  even  on  the  tbiy  of 
iSan  Giovanni. 

It  was  near  mid-day,  and  since  the  early  morning  there  had 
been  a  gradual  swarining  of  the  jieoj/le  at  every  coign  of  van- 
tage or  disadvantage  offered  by  the  faeades  and  roofs  of  the 
houses,  and  such  sj)aces  of  the  pavement  as  were  free  to  the 
public.  Men  Avere  seatecl  on  iron  rods  that  made  a  sharp  angle 
with  the  rising  wall,  were  chitching  slim  pillars  with  arms  and 


EOMOLA.  473 

legs,  were  astride  on  the  necks  of  the  rough  statuary  that  hero 
and  there  surmounted  the  entrances  of  the  grander  houses, 
were  finding  a  pahn's-breadth  of  seat  on  a  bit  of  architrave, 
and  a  footing  on  the  rough  projections  of  the  rustic  stone- 
work, while  Uiey  clutched  the  strong  iron  rings  or  staples 
driven  into  the  walls  beside  them. 

For  they  were  come  to  see  a  Miracle :  cramped  limbs  and 
abraded  flesh  seemed  slight  inconveniences  witli  that  prospect 
dose  at  hand.  It  is  the  ordinary  lot  of  mankind  to  hear  of 
miracles,  and  more  or  less  believe  in  them ;  but  now  the  Flor- 
entines were  going  to  see  one.  At  the  very  least  they  would 
see  half  a  miracle ;  for  if  the  monk  did  not  come  whole  out  of 
the  fire,  they  would  see  him  enter  it,  and  infer  that  he  was 
burned  in  the  middle. 

There  could  be  no  reasonable  doubt,  it  seemed,  that  the  fire 
would  be  kindled,  and  that  the  monks  would  enter  it.  For 
there,  before  their  eyes,  was  the  long  platform,  eight  feet  broad 
and  twenty  yards  long,  with  a  grove  of  fuel  heai)ed  up  terri- 
bly, great  branches  of  dry  oak  as  a  foundation,  crackling  thorns 
above,  and  well-anointed  tow  and  rags,  known  to  make  fine 
flames  in  Florentine  illuminations.  The  platform  began  at 
the  corner  of  the  marble  terrace  in  front  of  the  old  palace, 
close  to  Marzocco,  the  stone  lion,  whose  aged  visage  looked 
frowningly  along  the  grove  of  fuel  that  stretched  obliquely 
across  the  Piazza. 

Besides  that  there  were  three  large  bodies  of  armed  men : 
five  hundred  hired  soldiers  of  the  Signoria  stationed  before 
the  palace,  five  hundred  Compagnacci,  under  Dolfo  Spini,  far 
off  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  Piazza,  and  three  hundred  arm- 
ed citizens  of  another  sort,  under  Marco  Salviati,  Savonarola's 
friend,  in  front  of  Orcagna's  Loggia,  where  the  Franciscans 
and  Dominicans  were  to  be  placed  with  their  champions. 

Here  had  been  much  expense  of  money  and  labor,  and  high 
dignities  were  concerned.  There  could  be  no  reasonable  doubt 
that  something  great  was  about  to  happen ;  and  it  would  cer- 
tainly be  a  great  thing  if  the  two  monks  were  simply  burned, 
for  in  that  case  too  God  would  have  spoken,  and  said  very 
plainly  that  Fra  Girolamo  was  not  his  prophet. 

And  there  was  not  much  longer  to  wait,  for  it  was  now 
aear  mid-day.  Half  the  monks  Avere  already  at  their  post, 
and  that  half  of  the  Loggia  that  lies  towards  the  Palace  Avas 
already  filled  with  gray  mantles;  but  the  other  half,  divided 
off  by  boards,  was  still  empty  of  every  thing  except  a  small 
altar.  The  Franciscans  had  entered  and  taken  their  places  in 
;:ilence.  But  now,  at  the  other  side  of  the  Piazza,  was  heard 
loud  chanting  from  two  hundred  voices,  and  there  was  general 


4Vf  llOMOLA. 

satisfaction,  if  not  in  (lie  c'tiantint;,  at  Icar-t  in  tlie  evidence  that 
die  Dominicans  were  come.  That  loud  eliantiiiij:  re|tetition 
of  the  prayer,  "  Let  God  arise,  and  let  his  enemies  be  scatter- 
ed," was  unpleasantly  sun;gestive  to  some  inijiartial  ears  of  a 
desire  to  vaunt  confidence  and  excite  dismay ;  and  so  was  the 
llame-colored  \elvetc(»i>e  in  which  Fra  Domenico  was  anayed 
as  he  headed  the  j)rocession,  cross  in  hand,  his  simple  mind 
really  exalted  with  faith,  and  with  the  genuine  intention  to  en- 
ter the  tlatnes  for  the  glory  of  God  and  Fra  Girolatuo.  Be- 
hind him  came  Savonarola  in  the  white  vestments  of  a  priest, 
carrying  in  his  hands  a  vessel  containing  the  consecrated 
Host.  lie  too  was  chanting  loudly,  he  too  looked  firm  and 
confident;  and  as  all  eyes  were  turned  eagerly  on  him,c-ither 
in  anxiety,  curiosity,  or  malignity,  from  the  moment  when  he 
enterefl  the  Piazza  till  he  mounted  the  stejis  of  the  Loggia,  and 
deposited  tlie  Sacrament  on  the  altar,  there  was  an  intensifying 
Hash  and  energy  in  his  countenance  responding  to  that  scru- 
tiny. 

We  are  so  made,  almost  all  of  ns,  that  the  false  scemi.ig 
which  we  have  thought  of  with  painful  shrinking  a  hen  befotC- 
hand  in  our  solitude  it  lias  urged  itself  on  us  as  a  noccssi».y, 
will  possess  our  muscles  and  move  our  lips  as  if  nothing  bat 
that  were  easy  when  once  we  have  come  under  the  stinnilus 
of  expectant  eyes  and  ears.  And  the  strength  of  that  stimu- 
lus to  Savonarola  can  hardly  be  measured  by  the  experience 
of  ordinary  lives.  l*erhaps  no  man  has  ever  liad  a  mighty  in- 
fluence over  his  fellows  without  having  the  innate  need  to 
dominate,  and  this  need  usually  becomes  the  more  imperious 
in  proportion  as  the  complications  of  life  make  self  insepara- 
ble from  a  purpose  which  is  not  selfish.  In  this  -way  it  came 
to  i)ass  that  on  the  day  of  the  Trial  by  Fire  the  doublenesa 
which  is  the  pressing  temptation  in  every  public  career,  wheth- 
er of  priest,  orator,  or  statesman,  was  more  strongly  defined 
in  Savonarola's  consciousness  as  the  acting  of  a  part,  than  at 
any  other  j)eriod  in  his  life.  He  was  struggling  not  against 
imjtending  martrydom, but  against  impending  ruin. 

Therefore  lu'  lookeil  and  acted  as  if  he  were  thoroughly 
confident,  when  all  the  while  foreboding  was  ])ressing  with 
leaden  weight  on  his  heart,  not  only  because  of  the  probable 
issues  of  tins  trial,  but  because  of  another  event  already  i)a/^s- 
ed — an  eveJit  which  Avas  spreadincr  a  sunny  satisfaction  through 
the  min<l  of  a  man  who  was  looking  down  at  the  passion-worn 
l)rophet  from  a  window  of  the  Old  Palace.  It  was  a  common 
turning-point  towards  which  those  widely  sundered  lives  had 
been  converging,  that  two  evenings  ago  the  news  had  come 
that  the  Florentine  courier  of  the  Ten  had  been  arrested  and 


KOMOLA.  475 

robbed  of  all  his  dispatches,  so  that  Savonarola's  lettei'  was 
already  in  the  hands  of  the  Duke  of  Milan,  and  would  soon 
be  in  the  hands  of  the  Pope,  not  only  heightening  rage,  but 
giving  a  new  justification  to  extreme  measures.  There  was 
no  malignity  in  Tito  Melema's  satisfaction :  it  was  the  mild 
Gelf  gratulation  of  a  man  who  has  won  a  game  that  has  em- 
ployed hypothetic  skill,  not  a  game  that  has  stirred  the  mus- 
cles and  heated  the  blood.  Of  course  that  bundle  of  desires 
and  contrivances  called  human  nature,  when  moulded  into  the 
form  of  a  plain-featured  Frate  Predicatore,  more  or  less  of  an 
impostor,  could  not  be  a  pathetic  object  to  a  brilliant-minded 
scholar  Avho  understood  every  thing.  Yet  this  tonsured  Giro- 
lamo,  with  the  high  nose  and  large  under  lij),  was  an  immense- 
ly clever  Frate,  mixing  with  his  absurd  superstitions  or  fabri- 
cations very  remarkable  notions  about  government :  no  bab- 
bler, but  a  man  who  could  keep  his  secrets.  Tito  had  no  more 
spite  against  him  than  against  Saint  Dominic.  On  the  con- 
trary, Fra  Girolamo's  existence  had  been  highly  convenient  to 
Tito  Melema,  furnishing  him  with  that  round  of  the  ladder 
from  which  lie  was  about  to  leap  on  to  a  new  and  smooth  foot- 
ing very  much  to  his  heart's  content.  And  every  thing  now 
was  in  forward  preparation  for  that  leap  :  let  one  more  sun  rise 
and  set,  and  Tito  hoped  to  quit  Florence.  He  had  been  so  in- 
dustrious that  he  felt  at  full  leisure  to  amuse  himself  Avith  to- 
day's comedy,  which  the  thick-headed  Dolfo  Spini  could  never 
have  brought  about  but  for  him. 

Not  yet  did  the  loud  chanting  cease,  but  rather  swelled  to 
a  deafening  roar,  being  taken  up  in  all  parts  of  the  Piazza  by 
the  Piagnoni,  Avho  carried  their  little  red  crosses  as  a  badge, 
and,  most  of  them,  chanted  the  prayer  for  the  confusion  of 
God's  enemies,  Avith  the  expectation  of  an  answer  to  be  given 
through  the  medium  of  a  more  signal  personage  than  Fra 
Donienico.  This  good  Frate,  in  his  flame-colored  cope,  was 
now  kneeling  before  the  little  altar  on  which  the  Sacrament 
was  deposited,  awaiting  his  summons. 

On  the  Franciscan  side  of  the  Loggia  there  was  no  chant- 
ing and  no  flame-color  •  only  silence  and  graj-ness.  But  there 
was  this  counterbalancing  difference,  that  the  Franciscans  had 
two  champions :  a  certain  Fra  Giuliano  was  to  pair  with  Fra 
Domenico,  while  the  original  champion,  Fra  Francisco,  con- 
fined his  challenge  to  Savonarola. 

"  Surely,"  thought  the  men  perched  uneasily  on  rods  and 
pillars,  "  all  must  be  ready  now.  This  chanting  might  stop, 
and  we  should  see  better  when  the  Frati  are  moving  towards 
the  platform." 

But  the  Frati  were  not  to  be  seen  moving  yet.     Pale  Fran* 


470  noMOLA. 

ciscaii  faces  Avere  lonkincr  uneasily  over  the  1)oar(liiif;  at  tliat 
llanie-e<)k)re<l  cope.  It  liad  an  evil  look  and  niiglit  he  enchant- 
ed, so  that  a  false  miracle  would  be  wrought  by  magic.  Your 
monk  may  come  whole  out  of  the  fire,  and  yet  it  may  be  the 
work  of  the  devil. 

And  now  there  was  j)assing  to  and  fro  between  the  Loggia 
and  the  marble  terrace  of  the  Palazzo,  and  the  roar  of  chant- 
ing became  a  little  (juietcr,  for  every  one  at  a  distance  Avas 
:Deguming  to  watch  more  eagerly.  JJut  it  soon  a)ti)eared  that 
the  new  movement  was  not  a  beginning,  but  an  obstacle  to 
beginning.  The  dignified  Florentines  a)»i)ointed  to  preside 
over  this  affair  as  moderators  on  each  side,  went  in  and  out 
of  tlie  Palace,  and  there  was  much  debate  with  the  Francis- 
cans. But  at  last  it  was  clear  that  Fra  Domenico,  conspicu- 
ous in  liis  flame-color,  M'as  being  fetched  towards  the  Palace. 
Probably  the  fire  had  already  been  kintlled — it  was  difiicult 
to  see  at  a  distance — and  the  miracle  was  going  to  begin. 

Not  at  all.  The  fiame-colored  cope  disappeared  within  the 
Palace  ;  tlicn  another  Dominican  was  fetched  away  ;  and  for  a 
long  while  every  thing  went  on  as  before — the  tiresome  chant- 
ing, which  was  not  miraculous,  and  Fra  Girolamo  in  his  white 
vestment  standing  just  in  the  same  })iace.  But  at  last  some- 
thing  hap])ened:  Fra  Domenico  was  seen  coming  out  of  the 
Palace  again,  and  returning  to  liis  brethren.  lie  had  changed 
all  his  clothes  with  a  brother  monk,  but  he  was  guarded  on 
each  flank  by  a  Franciscan,  lest  coming  into  the  vicinity  of  Sa- 
vonarola he  should  be  enchanted  again. 

"  Ah,  then,"  thought  the  distant  spectators,  a  little  less  con- 
scious of  cramped  limbs  and  hunger,  "  Fra  Domenico  is  not 
going  to  enter  the  fire.  It  is  Fra  Ciirolamo  wIkj  offers  him- 
self after  all.  We  shall  see  him  move  i)rcsently,  and  if  he 
comes  out  of  the  flames  Ave  shall  have  a  fine  view  of  him !" 

But  Fra  (Tirolanio  did  not  move,  except  Avith  the  ordinary 
action  accomitanying  speech.  The  speech  Avas  bold  and  firm, 
]»er]ia])S  somewhat  ironically  remonstrant,  like  tliat  of  Elijah 
to  the  i)riests  of  Baal,  demanding  the  cessation  of  these  trivial 
(li'lays.  ]>ut  speech  is  the  most  irritating  kind  of  argument 
for  those  who  are  out  of  hearing,  cramped  in  the  limbs,  and 
empty  in  the  stomach.  And  AvJiat  need  was  tliere  fur  sjieec/i  ? 
If  the  miracle  did  not  begin,  it  could  be  no  one's  f;iult  but  Fra 
Girolamo's,  Avho  might  put  an  end  to  all  difliculties  by  offer- 
ing himself,  now  the  lire  Avas  ready,  as  he  had  been  forward 
enough  to  do  when  there  Avas  no  fuel  in  sight. 

]Morc  movement  to  and  fro,  more  discussion  ;  and  the  after- 
noon seemed  to  be  slipping  away  all  the  faster  because  the 
clouds  liad  gathered,  and  changed  the  liglit   on  every  thing, 


JROMOLA,  477 

and  sent  a  chill  through  the  spectators,  hungry  in  mind  and 
body. 

}fo\o  it  M'as  the  crucifix  •which  Fra  Donienico  wanted  to 
carry  into  the  fire  and  must  not  be  allowed  to  profane  in  that 
manner.  After  some  little  resistance  Savonarola  gave  way  to 
this  objection,  and  thus  had  the  advantage  of  making  one 
more  concession ;  but  he  immediately  placed  in  Fra  Domenico's 
hands  the  vessel  containing  the  conseci'ated  Host.  The  idea 
that  the  presence  of  the  sacred  Mystery  might  in  the  worst 
extremity  avert  the  ordinary  effects  of  fire  hovered  in  his 
mind  as  a  possibility  ;  but  the  issue  on  which  he  counted  was 
of  a  more  positive  kind.  In  taking  up  the  Host  he  said,  quiet- 
ly, as  if  he  were  only  doing  what  had  been  presupposed  from 
the  first, 

"  Since  they  are  not  willing  that  you  should  enter  with  the 
crucifix,  my  brother,  enter  simply  witli  the  Sacrament." 

New  horror  in  the  Franciscans  ;  new  firmness  in  Savonarola. 
"  It  was  impious  presumption  to  carry  the  Sacrament  into  the 
fire  :  if  it  were  burned  the  scandal  would  be  great  in  the  minds 
of  the  weak  and  ignorant."  "  Not  at  all :  even  if  it  were  burn- 
ed, the  Accidents  only  would  be  consumed,  the  Substance  would 
remain."  Here  was  a  question  that  might  be  argued  till  set 
of  sun  and  remain  as  elastic  as  ever ;  and  no  one  could  pro- 
pose settling  it  by  proceeding  to  the  trial,  since  it  was  essential- 
ly a  i^reliminary  question.  It  was  only  necessaiy  that  both 
sides  should  remain  fii-m — that  the  Franciscans  should  persist 
in  not  permitting  the  Host  to  be  carried  into  the  fire,  and  that 
Fra  Domenico  should  persist  in  refusing  to  enter  without  it. 

Meanwhile  the  clouds  were  getting  darker,  the  air  chiller. 
Even  the  chanting  was  missed,  now  it  had  given  Avay  to  in- 
audible argument ;  and  the  contused  sounds  of  talk  from  all 
points  of  the  Piazza,  showing  that  expectation  was  everywhere 
relaxing,  contributed  to  the  irritating  presentiment  that  noth- 
ing decisive  would  be  done.  Here  and  there  a  dropping  shout 
was  heard ;  then,  more  frequent  shouts  in  a  rising  scale  of 
scorn. 

*'  Light  the  fire  and  driv'e  them  in !"  "  Let  tis  have  a  smell 
of  roast — we  want  our  dinner  !"  "  Come,  Prophet,  let  us  know 
whether  any  thing  is  to  happen  before  the  twenty-four  hourii 
are  over!"  "Yes,  yes,  Avhat's  your  last  vision?"  "Oh,  he's 
got  a  dozen  in  his  inside ;  they're  the  small  change  for  a  mir- 
acle !"  "  Ola,  Frate,  where  are  you  ?  Never  mind  Avasting 
ihe  fuel !" 

Still  the  same  movement  to  and  fro  between  the  Loggia 
»nd  the  Palace ;  still  the  same  debate,  slow  and  unintelligible 
to  the  multitude  as  the  colloquies  of  insects  that  touch  an- 


478  IIOMOLA. 

tenna3  to  no  other  apparent  effect  tlian  that  of  going  and  com. 
ing.  IJiit  an  interpretation  was  not  long  wanting  to  unlieard 
♦It'bates  in  wliicli  Fra  (rirnlam<i  was  constantly  a  speaki-r :  it 
was  lie  who  was  iiinik'iing  the  trial;  every  body  was  appeal- 
ing to  him  now,  and  he  was  lianging  back. 

Soon  the  sliouts  ceased  to  be  distinguisliable,  and  were 
lost  in  an  uproar  not  simply  of  voices,  but  ot  clashing  metal 
and  trampling  feet.  The  suggestions  of  the  irritated  ])eoplo 
had  stimulated  old  impulses  in  Dolfo  Spini  and  his  band  of 
Compagnacci  ;  it  seemed  an  o))])()rtuiiity  not  to  be  lost  for 
putting  an  end  to  Florentine  dilliculties  by  getting  possession 
of  the  arch-hypocrite's  person  ;  and  there  was  a  vigorous  rusli 
of  the  armed  men  towards  the  Loggia,  thrusting  ihe  people 
aside,  or  driving  them  on  to  the  tile  of  soldiery  stationed  in 
front  of  tlie  palace.  At  this  movement  every  thing  was  sus- 
pended, both  with  monks  and  embarrassed  magistrates,  ex- 
cept the  palpitating  watch  to  see  what  would  come  of  the 
struggle. 

]>ut  the  Loggia  was  Avell  guarded  by  the  band  under  the 
brave  Salviati ;  the  soldiers  of  the  Signoria  assisted  in  the  re- 
]nilse ;  and  the  trampling  and  rushing  were  all  backward 
again  towards  the  Tetto  de'  I'isani,  when  the  l)la<"kness  of 
the  heavens  seemed  to  intensify  in  this  moment  of  utter 
confusion,  and  the  rain,  which  had  already  been  felt  in  scat- 
tered drops,  began  to  fall  with  raj)idly  growing  violence,  Avet- 
ting  the  fuel,  and  running  in  streams  off  the  platform,  wetting 
the  weary,  liungry  people  to  the  skin,  and  driving  every  man's 
disgust  and  rage  inward  to  ferment  there  in  the  damj)  dark- 
ness. 

Every  body  knew  now  that  the  trial  by  fire  was  not  to 
ha])])en.  Tlie  Signoria  Avas  doubtless  glad  of  the  rain,  as  an 
obvious  reason,  tetter  than  any  pretext,  for  declaring  that 
botli  i)arties  might  go  home.  It  was  the  issue  which  Savo- 
narola had  expected  and  desired  ;  yet  it  would  be  an  ill  de- 
scription of  what  he  felt  to  say  that  he  was  glad.  As  that 
rain  fell,  and  j)la.shed  on  the  edge  of  the  Loggia,  and  sent 
Mpray  over  the  altar  and  all  garments  and  faces,  the  Frate 
knew  that  the  demand  for  him  or  his  to  enter  the  fire  was  ai 
an  end.  j>ut  he  knew  too,  with  a  certainty  as  irrosistib'e  as 
the  damj)  chill  that  had  taken  ]»ossession  of  his  frame,  that 
the  design  of  his  enemies  was  fulfilled,  and  that  his  honor  was 
not  saved.  He  knew  that  he  should  have  to  make  his  way  to 
San  Marco  again  thiough  the  enraged  crowd,  and  that  the 
hearts  of  many  friends  who  would  once  have  defended  hin'v 
witli  tlieir  lives  would  now  be  turned  against  him. 

When  the  rain  had  ceased  he  asked  for  a  guard  from  tho 


ROM  OLA.  479 

Signoria,  and  it  was  given  him.  Had  he  said  that  he  was 
willing  to  die  for  the  work  of  his  life  ?  Yes,  and  he  had  not 
spoken  falsely.  But  to  die  in  dishonor — held  up  to  scorn  as 
a  hypocrite  and  a  false  prophet  ?  "  Oh  God  !  that  is  not 
martyrdom  !  It  is  the  blotting  out  of  a  life  that  has  been  a 
protest  against  Avrong.  Let  me  die  because  of  the  worth  that 
is  in  me,  not  because  of  my  v/eakness." 

The  rain  had  ceased,  and  the  light  from  the  breaking 
clouds  fell  on  Savonarola  as  he  left  the  Loggia  in  the  midst 
of  his  guard,  Avalking,  as  he  had  come,  with  the  Sacrament  in 
bis  liand.  But  there  seemed  no  glory  in  the  light  that  fell  on 
him  now,  no  smile  of  Heaven  :  it  was  only  that  light  Avhich 
shines  on,  patiently  and  impartially,  justifying  or  condemning 
by  simply  showing  all  things  in  the  slow  history  of  their 
ripening.  He  heard  no  blessing,  no  tones  of  pity,  but  only 
taunts  and  threats.  He  knew  this  was  but  a  foretaste  of 
commg  bitterness  ;  yet  his  courage  mounted  under  all  moral 
attack,  and  he  showed  no  sign  of  dismay. 

"  Well  parried,  Frate  !"  said  Tito,  as  Savonarola  descended 
the  steps  of  the  Loggia.  "  But  I  fear  your  career  at  Florence 
is  ended.     What  say  you,  my  Niccolo  V 

"  It  is  a  pity  his  falsehoods  were  not  all  of  a  wise  sort," 
said  MacchiaveUi,  with  a  melancholy  shrug.  "With  the 
times  so  much  on  his  side  as  they  are  about  church  affairs,  lie 
might  have  done  something  great." 


CHAPTER  LXVL 

A    MASQUE    OF    THE    FUKIES. 

The  next  day  was  Palm  Sunday,  or  Olive  Sunday,  as  it 
was  chiefly  called  in  the  olive-growing  Valdarno  ;  and  the 
morning  sun  shone  with  a  more  delicious  clearness  for  the 
yesterday's  rain.  Once  more  Savonarola  mounted  the  pulpit 
in  San  Marco,  and  saw  a  flock  around  him  whose  faith  in  liim 
was  still  unshaken  ;  and  this  morning  in  calm  and  sad  sin- 
cerity he  declared  himself  ready  to  die  :  in  the  front  of  all 
visions  he  saw  his  own  doom.  Once  more  he  uttered  the 
benediction,  and  saw  the  faces  of  men  and  women  lifted  to- 
wards him  in  venerating  love.  Then  he  descended  the  steps 
of  the  pulpit  and  turned  away  from  that  sight  forever. 

For  before  the  sun  had  set  Florence  was  in  an  uproar. 
The  passions  which  had  been  roused  the  day  before  had  been 
smouldering  through  that  quiet  morning,  and  had  now  burst 
out  again  with  a  fury  not  unassisted  by  design,  and  not  with- 


480  KOMOL.\- 

out  official  connivance.  Tlic  uproar  Tiad  begun  at  the  Duomo 
ill  an  attempt  of  some  Compatinacci  to  hinder  tlie  evening 
sermon,  wliii-h  tlie  Piagnoni  liad  assembled  to  hear,  liut  no 
sooner  hud  men's  blood  mounted  and  the  disturbances  had 
become  an  affray  than  the  cry  arose,  "  To  Han  Marco  !  the  lire 
to  San  ^[arco  !" 

And  long  before  the  daylight  had  ilied,  both  the  church 
and  convent  were  being  besieged  by  an  enraged  and  contiim- 
ally  increasing  multitude.  Not  without  resistance ;  for  the 
monks,  long  conscious  of  growing  hostility  without,  had  arn*8 
within  their  walls,  and  some  of  them  fought  as  vigorously  in 
their  long  white  tunics  as  if  they  liad  been  Knights  Tomi)lars. 
Even  the  command  of  Savonarola  could  not  prevail  against 
the  imi>ulse  to  self-defense  in  arms  that  were  still  muscular 
under  the  Dominican  serge.  There  were  laymen  too  who  had 
not  chosen  to  depart,  and  some  of  them  fought  fiercely  :  there 
was  firing  from  the  high  altar  close  by  the  great  crucilix,  there 
was  pouring  of  stones  and  hot  embers  from  the  convent  roof, 
there  was  close  fighting  with  swords  in  the  cloisters.  Not- 
withstanding the  force  of  the  assailants,  the  attack  lasted  till 
dcej)  night. 

The  demonstrations  of  the  Government  had  all  been  against 
tlie  convent ;  early  in  the  attack  guards  had  been  sent,  not  to 
disperse  the  assailants,  but  to  command  all  within  the  convent 
to  lav  down  their  arms,  all  laymen  to  depart  from  it,  and  Sa- 
vonarola himself  to  quit  the  Florentine  territory  within  twelve 
liours.  Had  Savonarola  quitted  the  convent  then  he  could 
hardly  have  escajted  being  torn  to  pieces;  he  was  willing  to 
go,  but  his  friends  hindered  him.  It  was  felt  to  be  a  great 
risk  even  for  some  laymen  of  high  name  to  depart  by  the  gar- 
den wall,  but  among  those  who  liad  chosen  to  do  so  was  Fran- 
cesco Valori,  who  hoped  to  raise  rescue  from  without. 

And  now  when  it  was  deep  night — when  the  struggle  couhl 
hardly  have  lasted  much  longer,  and  the  C'ompagnacci  might 
soon  have  carried  their  swords  into  the  liljrary,  where  Savo- 
narola  was  praying  with  the  JJrethron  who  had  either  not  taken 
up  arms  or  had  laid  them  down  at  Ids  command — there  came 
a  second  body  of  guards,  commissioned  by  the  Signoria  to  de- 
numd  the  ])ersons  of  Fra  (iirolamo  and  his  two  coadjutors, 
Fra  Domcnico  and  Fra  Salvestro. 

Loud  was  the  roar  of  triumphant  hate  wlien  the  light  of 
lanterns  showed  the  Frate  issuing  from  the  door  of  the  con- 
vent with  a  guard  who  jiromisedhim  no  other  safety  than  that 
of  the  ])rison.  The  struggle  now  was,  who  should  get  first 
in  the  stream  that  rushed  up  the  narrow  street  to  see  the 
l*roph(t  carrie(l  baek  in  ignominy  to  the  Piazza  where  he  had 


KOMOLA.  481 

braved  it  yesterday — who  should  be  in  the  best  place  for 
reaching  his  ear  with  insult,  nay,  if  possible,  for  smiting  him 
and  kicking  him.  This  was  not  difficult  for  some  of  the  armed 
Compagnacci  who  were  not  prevented  from  mixing  themselves 
with  the  guards. 

When  Savonarola  felt  himself  dragged  and  pushed  along  in 
the  midst  of  that  hooting  multitude;  when  lanterns  were  lift- 
ed to  show  him  deriding  faces ;  when  he  felt  himself  spat  upon, 
smitten  and  kicked  with  grossest  words  of  insult,  it  seemed  to 
him  that  the  Avorst  bitterness  of  life  was  past.  If  men  judged 
him  guilty,  and  were  bent  on  having  his  blood,  it  was  only 
death  that  awaited  him.  But  the  worst  drop  of  bitterness 
can  never  be  wrung  on  to  our  lips  from  without:  the  lowest 
depth  of  resignation  is  not  to  be  found  in  martyrdom ;  it  is 
only  to  be  found  when  we  have  covered  our  heads  in  silence 
and  felt,  "  I  am  not  worthy  to  be  a  martyr :  the  truth  shall 
prosper,  but  not  b}^  me." 

But  that  brief  imperfect  triumph  of  insulting  the  Frate,who 
had  soon  disappeared  under  the  doorway  of  the  Old  Palace, 
W'as  only  like  the  taste  of  blood  to  the  tiger.  Were  there  not 
the  houses  of  the  hypocrite's  friends  to  be  sacked?  Already 
one  half  of  the  armed  multitude,  too  much  in  the  rear  to  share 
greatly  in  the  siege  of  the  convent,  had  beeT\  employed  in  the 
more  profitable  work  of  attacking  rich  houses,  not  with  plan- 
less desire  for  plunder,  but  with  that  discriminating  selection 
of  such  as  belonged  to  chief  Piagnoni,  which  showed  that  the 
riot  was  under  guidance,  and  that  the  rabble  with  clubs  and 
staves  were  well  officered  by  sword-girt  Compagnacci.  Was 
tliere  not — next  criminal  after  the  Frate — the  ambitious 
Francesco  Yalori,  suspected  of  wanting  with  the  Frate's  help 
to  make  himself  a  Doge  or  Gonfalonicre  for  life?  And  the 
gray-haired  man  who,  eight  months  ago,  had  lifted  his  arm 
and  his  voice  in  such  ferocious  demand  for  justice  on  five  of 
his  fellow-citizens,  only  escaped  from  San  Marco  to  experience 
what  others  called  justice — to  see  his  house  surrounded  by  an 
angry,  greedy  multitude,  to  see  his  wife  shot  dead  with  an  ar- 
row, and  to  be  himself  murdered,  as  he  was  on  his  way  to  an- 
swer a  summor.s  to  the  Palazzo,  by  the  swords  of  men  named 
Ridolfi  and  Tornabuoni. 

In  this  way  that  Masque  of  the  Furies,  called  Riot,  was 
played  on  in  Florence  through  the  Hours  of  night  and  early 
morning. 

But  the  chief  director  was  not  visible :  he  had  his  reasons 
for  issuing  his  orders  from  a  private  retreat,  being  of  rather 
too  high  a  name  to  let  his  red  feather  be  seen  waving  among 
all  the  work  that  was  to  be  done  before  the  dawn.  The  re- 
st 


4P2  KOMOLA. 

treat  was  tlie  same  house  ami  tlje  same  room  in  a  quiet  street 
between  Saiita  Croce  and  San  ]\Iarco,  where  we  have  seen  Tito 
])aying  a  secret  visit  to  Dolfo  Sj>iui.  Here  the  eaptain  of  tlio 
Coin|>a!Lpiacei  sat  through  this  memorable  night,  receiving  vis- 
itors wlio  came  and  went,  and  went  and  came,  some  of  them  in 
tlic  guise  of  armed  Compagnacci,  others  dressed  obscurely  and 
without  visiljlc  arms.  There  was  abundant  wine  on  tl>e  tal)h^, 
with  *hinking-cu})S  for  cliance  comers ;  and  though  Sj)ini  was 
©n  his  guard  against  excessive  drinking,  he  took  enougli  from 
time  to  time  to  heighten  the  excitement  produced  by  tlie  news 
that  was  being  brought  to  him  continually. 

Among  the  obscurely  dressed  visitors  Ser  Ceccone  was  one 
of  the  most  frequent,  and  as  the  hours  advanced  towards  morn- 
ing twiliglit  he  had  remained  as  Sj»ini's  constant  companion, 
together  with  Francesco  Cei,  who  was  then  in  lallier  careless 
hiding  in  Florence,  expecting  to  have  his  banishment  revoked 
"when  the  Frate's  fall  had  been  accomplishe<l. 

The  tapeis  had  burned  themselves  into  low  shajicless  mass- 
es, and  holes  in  the  shutters  were  just  marked  by  a  sombre 
outward  light,  when  K5pini,who  had  started  from  his  seat  and 
walked  uj>  and  down  with  an  angry  flush  on  his  face  at  some 
talk  that  had  been  going  forward  with  those  two  unmilitary 
companions,  burst  out — 

"The  devil  spit  him  !  he  shall  pay  for  it,  though.  Ha, ha  ! 
the  claws  shall  be  down  on  him  Avhen  he  little  thinks  of  them. 
So  he  was  to  be  the  great  man  after  all !  lie's  been  pretend- 
ing to  chuck  every  thing  towards  my  cap,  as  if  I  were  a  blind 
beggarman,  and  all  the  while  lie's  been  winking  and  filling  his 
own  scarsella.  I  should  likjj  to  hang  skins  about  him  and  set 
Tuy  hounds  on  him  !  And  he's  got  that  fine  ruby  of  mine  I 
was  fool  enough  to  give  liim  yesterday.  ]Malediction  !  And 
he  was  laughing  at  me  in  his  sleeve  two  yeais  ago,  and  sj)oil- 
ing  the  best  plan  that  ever  was  laid.  I  was  a  fool  for  trusting 
myself  with  a  rascal  who  had  long-twisted  contrivances  that 
uobody  could  see  to  the  end  of  but  himself." 

"A  Greek,  too,  who  dropjjcd  into  Florence  with  gems 
packed  about  him,"  said  Francesco  Cei,  wlio  had  a  slight  smile 
of  junusement  on  his  face  at  Spini's  fuming.  "  You  did  not 
choose  your  confidant  very  wisely,  my  Dolfo." 

"  He's  a  cursed  deal  cleverer  than  you,  Franc<>sco,  and 
handsomer  too,"  said  Spini,  turning  on  his  associate  with  a 
general  desire  to  worry  any  thing  that  ])reseMted  itself, 

"I  humbly  conceiVe,"  said  Scr  (.'eccone,  '■  that  jNIesscr 
Francesco's  poetic  genius  will  outweigh — " 

"Yes,  yes,  rub  your  hands!     I  hate  that  notary's  trick  vA 

•''ill 

yours,"  interrupted  Sjiini,  whose  jiatronage  consisted  lai'gely 


iiOMOLA  483 

in  this  sort  of  frankness.  "  But  there  comes  Taddeo,  or  some- 
body :  now's  the  time  !  What  news,  eh  ?"  he  went  on,  as  two 
Compagnacci  entered  with  heated  looks. 

"  Bad  !"  said  one.  "  The  people  had  made  up  their  rainda 
they  were  going  to  have  the  sacking  of  Soderini's  house,  and 
now  they've  been  balked  we  shall  have  them  turning  on  us  if 
vra  don't  take  care.  I  suspect  there  are  some  Mediceans  buzz- 
ing about  among  them,  and  we  may  see  thera  attacking  your 
palace  over  the  bridge  before  long,  unless  we  can  find  a  bait 
for  them  another  way." 

"I  have  it,"  said  Spini,  and  seizing  Taddeo  by  the  belt  he 
drew  him  aside  to  give  him  directions,  while  the  other  went 
on  telling  Cei  how  the  Signoria  had  interfered  about  Soderini'o 
house. 

"  Ecco  !"  exclaimed  Spini,  presently  giving  Taddeo  a  slight 
push  towards  the  door.     "  Go,  and  make  cpiick  work." 


CHxiPTER  LXVn. 

WAITING    BY    THE    RIVER. 


About  the  time  when  the  two  Compagnaeci  went  on  their 
errand,  there  was  another  man  who,  on  l;he  opposite  side  of 
the  Arno,  was  also  going  out  into  the  chill  gray  twilight. 
His  errand,  apparently,  could  have  no  relation  to  theirs ;  he 
Avas  making  his  way  to  the  brink  of  the  river  at  a  spot  which, 
though  within  the  city  walls,  was  overlooked  by  no  dwell- 
ings, and  which  only  seemed  the  more  shrouded  and  lonely 
for  the  warehouses  and  granaries  which  at  some  little  dis- 
tance backward  turned  their  shoulders  to  the  river.  There 
was  a  sloping  width  of  long  grass  and  rushes,  made  all  the 
more  dank  by  broad  gutters  which  here  and  there  emptied 
themselves  into  the  Arno. 

The  gutters  and  the  loneliness  were  the  attraction  that 
drew  this  man  to  come  and  sit  down  among  the  grass,  and 
bend  over  the  waters  that  ran  swiftly  in  the  channelled  slope 
at  his  side.  For  he  had  once  had  a  large  piece  of  bread 
brought  to  him  by  one  of  those  friendly^runlets,  and  more 
than  once  a  raw  carrot  and  apple  parings.  It  was  worth 
while  to  wait  for  such  chances  in  a  place  where  there  was  no 
one  to  see,  and  often  in  his  restless  wakefulness  ho  came  to 
watch  here  before  daybreak ;  it  might  save  him  f<  r  one  day 
the  need  of  tliat  silent  begging,  which  consisted  in  sitting  on 
a  church  ste]>  or  by  the  way-side  out  beyond  the  Forta"Saii 
Frediano. 


484  EOMOLA. 

For  Baklassarrc  hated  begging  so  much  that  he  would 
ha\H'  |K'iliaps  chosen  to  die  rather  tliau  make  even  that  sileut 
appral,  hut  ior  one  reason  tliat  made  him  di'sire  to  live.  It 
was  no  longer  a  hope;  it  was  oidy  that  possihility  which 
clings  to  every  idea  that  lias  taken  coniplete  possession  of 
the  mind  ;  the  sort  of  possibility  that  makes  a  woman  watch 
on  a  headland  for  the  ship  which  liehl  something  dear,  though 
all  her  neighbors  are  certain  that  the  ship  was  a  wreck  long 
years  ago.  After  he  had  come  out  of  the  convent  hospital, 
where  the  monks  of  San  ^liniatohad  taken  care  of  him  as  long 
as  he  was  helj)less  ;  after  he  had  watched  in  vain  for  the  wife 
who  was  to  helj)  him,  and  had  begun  to  think  that  she  was 
dead  of  the  ])estilence  that  seeme«l  to  fill  all  the  space  since 
the  night  he  parted  Ironi  her,  he  had  b  -en  unable  to  conceive 
anv  wav  in  which  sacred  veuLseauce  could  satisfy  itself 
through  his  arm.  His  knife  Avas  gone,  and  he  was  too  feeble 
in  body  to  win  another  by  work,  too  feeble  in  mind,  even  if 
he  had  had  the  knife,  to  contrive  that  it  should  serve  its  one 
])urpose.  He  was  a  shattered,  bewildered,  lonely  old  man; 
yet  he  desired  to  live  :  he  waited  for  something  of  which  he 
had  no  distinct  vision — something  dim,  formless — that  star- 
tled him,  and  made  strong  j)ulsations  within  him,  like  that 
uid<nown  thing  which  we  look  for  when  Ave  start  from  sleep, 
though  no  voice  or  touch  has  Avaked  us.  IJaldassarre  de- 
eired  to  live  ;  and  therefore  he  crept  out  in  the  gray  light 
and  seated  liimself  in  the  long  grass  and  watched  the  Avaters 
that  had  a  faint  promise  in  them. 

Meanwhile  the  ('omi)agnacci  Avere  busy  at  their  Avork. 
The  fi)rmidable  l)ands  of  armed  men,  k'ft  to  do  their  will, 
Avitli  very  little  interference  from  an  embarrassed  if  not  con- 
niving Signoria,  ha<l  parted  into  two  masses,  but  both  Avere 
.soon  making  their  way  by  dilVerent  roads  towards  the  Arno. 
The  smaller  mass  was  making  for  tlie  Ponte  Kubaconte,  the 
larger  for  the  I*onte  Vecchio  ;  but  in  l)oth  the  same  Avords 
had  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth  as  a  signal,  and  almost  ev- 
ery man  of  the  multitude  knew  that  he  was  going  to  the  Via 
de'  Bardi  to  sack  a  house  there.  If  he  knew  no  other  reason 
could  he  demaiul  a  better? 

The  armed  Coinpagnacci  kncAV  something  more,  for  a  briet 
word  of  command  flies  quickly,  and  the  leaders  of  the  two 
streams  of  rabble  had  a  perfect  understanding  that  they 
Avotild  meet  before  a  certain  house  a  little  towanls  the  eastern 
end  (jf  the  Via  de'  Bardi,  Avhere  the  master  would  j)robably  bo 
in  bed  and  be  surprised  in  his  morning  sleep. 

But  the  master  of  that  house  was  neither  sleeping  TU)r  in 
bed  ;  he  had  not  been  in  bed  that  night.     For  Tito's  anxiety 


ROMOLA.  485 

10  quit  Florence  had  been  stimulated  by  the  events  of  the 
previous  day  :  investigations  would  follow  in  which  appeals 
might  be  made  to  hini  delaying  his  departure ;  and  in  all  de- 
lay he  had  an  uneasy  sense  that  there  was  danger.  False- 
hood had  prospered  and  Avaxed  strong  ;  but  it  had  nourished 
the  twin  life,  Fear.  He  no  longer  wore  his  armor,  he  was  no 
longer  afraid  of  Baldassarre ;  but  from  the  corpse  of  that 
dead  fear  a  spirit  had  risen — the  undying  habit  of  feai-.  He 
felt  he  should  not  be  safe  till  he  was  out  of  this  fierce,  turbid 
Florence  ;  and  now  he  was  ready  to  go.  Maso  was  to  delivei* 
up  his  house  to  the  new  tenant ;  his  horses  and  mules  were 
awaiting  him  in  San  Gallo  ;  Tessa  and  the  children  had  been 
lodged  for  the  niglit  in  the  Borgo  outside  the  gate,  and  would 
be  dressed  in  readiness  to  mount  the  mules  and  join  him.  He 
descended  the  stone  steps  into  the  court-yard,  he  passed 
through  the  great  doorway,  not  the  same  Tito,  but  as  bril- 
liant, as  on  the  day  Avhen  he  had  first  entered  that  house,  and 
made  the  mistake  of  falling  in  love  with  Romola,  The  mis- 
take was  remedied  nov/,  the  old  life  was  cast  oft*  and  was  soon 
to  be  far  behind  him. 

He  turned  with  rapid  steps  towards  the  Piazza  dei  Mozzi, 
intending  to  pass  over  the  Ponte  Pubaconte  ;  but  as  he  went 
along  certain  sounds  came  upon  his  ears  that  made  him  turn 
round  and  walk  yet  more  quickly  in  {he  opposite  direction. 
Was  the  mob  coming  into  Oltrarno?  It  was  a  vexation,  for 
he  would  have  preferred  the  more  private  road.  He  must 
now  go  by  the  Ponte  Vecchio  ;  and  unpleasant  sensations 
madehim  draw  his  mantle  close  round  him,  and  walk  at  his 
utmost  speed.  There  was  no  one  to  see  him  in  that  gray 
twilight.  But  before  he  reached  the  end  of  the  Via  de'  Bar- 
di  like  sounds  fell  on  his  ear  again,  and  this  time  they  were 
much  louder  and  nearer.  Could  he  have  been  deceived  be- 
fore  ?  The  mob  must  be  coming  over  the  Ponte  Vecchio, 
Again  he  turned  from  an  impulse  of  fear  that  was  stronger 
than  reflection  ;  but  it  was  only  to  be  assured  that  the  mob 
was  actually  entering  the  street  from  the  opposite  end.  He 
chose  not  to  go  back  to  his  house  :  after  all,  they  would  not 
attack  him.  "Still,  he  had  some  valuables  about  him  ;  and  all 
things  except  reason  and  order  are  possible  with  a  mob.  But 
necessity  does  the  work  of  courage.  He  Avent  on  towards 
the  Ponte  Vecchio,  the  rush  and  the  trampling  and  the  con- 
fused voices  crettino;  so  loud  before  him  that  he  had  ceased  to 
bear  them  behind. 

For  he  had  reached  the  end  of  the  street,  and  the  crowd 
pouring  from  the  bridge  met  him  at  the  turning  and  hemmed 
in  his  way.     He  had  not  time  to  wonder  at  a  sudden  shnut 


48G  KOMOLA. 

before  lio  filt  liimseirpurrnunded,  not,  in  the  first  instanop,  l^y 
an  unariiiLil  rahbU-,  but  by  armed  Coinj)a!4iiacei ;  the  next 
sensation  was  that  his  ca])  fell  off,  and  that  lie  -vvas  thrust 
violeiitly  forward  ainon<;  the  rabble,  alont^  the  narrow  pas- 
sa!J[C  of  the  bridge.  Tiien  he  distin<j;uished  llie  shouts, '' Pi- 
»<^none  !  Medicean  !  Piajjiu>iie  !  Throw  him  over  the  bri<lge  !" 

His  mantle  was  being  torn  off  him  with  strong  pulls lliat 
would  have  throttled  him  if  the  fibula  had  not  iriven  wav. 
Then  his  searsella  was  snatched  at;  but  all  the  wiiile  he  was 
being  hustled  and  dragged;  and  the  snatch  failed — his  sear- 
sella still  hung  at  his  side.  Shouting,  yelling,  half-motive- 
less e.xecration  rang  stunningly  in  his  ears,  spri'ading  even 
among  those  who  had  not  yet  seen  liim,  and  only  knew  there 
was  a  man  to  be  reviled.  Tito's  liorrible  dread  was  that  ho 
should  b(>  struck  down  or  tram}  li-d  on  before  he  reache<l  the 
open  arches  that  surmount  the  centre  of  the  bridge.  There 
was  one  hope  for  him — that  they  might  throw  him  over  be- 
fore they  had  wounded  him  or  beaten  the  strength  out  of 
liim;  and  his  whole  soul  was  absorbed  in  that  one  hope  and 
its  obverse  terror. 

Yes — they  were  at  the  arches.  In  that  moment  Tito,  with 
bloodless  face  and  eves  dilated,  had  one  of  the  self-i)ri'servinir 
inspirations  that  come  in  extremity.  With  a  sudden  despe- 
rate effort  he  mastered  the  clasp  of  his  belt,  and  flung  belt  and 
searsella  forward  towards  a  yard  of  clear  space  against  the 
para])et,  crying,  in  a  ringing  voice, 

"There  are  diamonds!  tlicre  is  gold  !" 

In  the  instant  the  hold  on  him  was  relaxed,  and  tliere  was 
a  rush  towards  the  searsella.  lie  threw  himself  on  the  jtar- 
apet  with  a  tlesperate  leap,  and  the  next  nioment  jdunged — 
jtlunged  with  a  great  ])Iash  into  the  dark  river  lar  below. 

It  was  his  chance  of  salvation  ;  and  it  was  a  good  chance. 
His  life  had  been  saved  once  before  by  his  fine  swimming, 
and  as  he  rose  to  the  surface  again  after  his  long  dive  he  had 
a  sense  of  deliverance,  lie  struck  out  with  all  the  energy  of 
his  strong  ])rime,  and  tlie  current  helpe<l  him.  If  he  could 
only  swim  beyond  the  Ponte  alia  Carrara  he  might  land  in  a 
remote  part  of  the  city,  and  even  yet  reach  San  Gallo.  Life 
was  still  before  him.  And  the  idiot  mob,  shouting  and  be), 
lowing  on  the  bridge  there,  would  think  he  was  drowned. 

Th'-y  dill  think  so.  Peering  over  the  ])arapet  along  the 
dark  stream,  they  could  not  see  afar  off  the  moving  blackness 
of  the  floating  hair,  and  the  velvet  tunic-sh  eves. 

It  was  only  iVoin  the  othi-r  way  tliata  j»ale  olive  face  could 
be  seen  looking  white  above  the  dark  water:  a  face  not  easy 
even   f(jr  the  indifferent  to  forget,  with  its  square  forehead^ 


BOMOLA.  487 

the  \on<x  lov>-  arch  of  the  eyebrows,  and  tlie  long  lustrous 
agate-like  eyes.  Onward  the  face  went  on  tlie  dark  current, 
with  inflated  quivering  nostrils,  with  the  blue  veins  distended 
on  the  temples.  One  bridge  was  passed- — the  bridge  of  Santa 
Trinita.  Should  he  risk  landing  now  rather  than  trust  to  his 
strength  ?  No.  He  heard,  or  fancied  he  heard,  yells  and 
cries  pui-suing  him.  Terror  pressed  liim  most  from  the  side  of 
his  fellow-men  :  he  was  less  afraid  of  indefinite  chances  ;  and 
he  swam  on,  panting  and  straining.  He  was  not  so  fresh  as 
he  would  have  been  if  he  had  passed  the  night  in  sleep. 

Yet  the  next  bridge — tlie  last  bridge — was  passed.  He 
was  conscious  of  it ;  but  in  that  tumult  of  his  blood  he  could 
only  feel  vaguely  that  he  was  safe  and  might  land.  But 
where  ?  Tlie  current  was  having  its  way  with  him :  he 
hai-dly  knew  where  he  was  :  exhaustion  was  bringing  on  the 
dreamy  state  that  precedes  unconsciousness. 

But  now  there  were  eyes  that  discerned  him — aged  eyes, 
strong  for  the  distance.  Baldassarre,  looking  up  blankly 
from  the  search  in  the  runlet  that  brought  him  nothing,  had 
seen  a  white  object  coming  along  the  broader  stream.  Could 
that  be  any  fortunate  chance  for  him  f  He  looked  and  look- 
ed till  the  object  gathered  fomi ;  then  he  leaned  forward  Avith 
a  start  as  he  sat  amons:  the  rank  screen  stems,  and  his  eyes 
seemed  to  be  filled  with  a  new  light.  Yet  he  only  watched 
— motionless.     Somethina:  was  being  brought  to  him. 

The  next  instant  a  man's  body  was  cast  violently  on  the 
grass  two  yards  from  him,  and  he  started  forward  like  a 
panther,  clutching  the  velvet  tunic  as  he  fell  forward  on  the 
body  and  flashed  a  look  in  the  man's  face. 

Dead  — was  he  dead?  The  eyes  were  rigid.  But  no,  it 
could  not  be — ^justice  had  brought  him.  Men  looked  dead 
sometimes,  and  yet  the  life  came  back  into  them.  Baldas- 
sarre did  not  feel  feeble  in  that  moment.  He  knew  just  Avhat 
he  could  do.  He  got  his  large  fingers  within  the  neck  of 
the  tunic  and  held  them  there,  kneeling  on  one  knee  beside 
the  body  and  watching  the  face.  There  was  a  fierce  hope  in 
his  heart,  but  it  was  mixed  with  trembling.  In  his  eyes 
there  was  only  fierceness ;  all  the  slow-burning  remnant  of 
life  within  him  seemed  to  have  leaped  into  flame. 

Rigid — rigid  still.  Those  eyes  with  the  half-fallen  lida 
were  locked  against  vengeance.  Could  it  be  that  he  was 
dead  ?  There  was  nothing  to  measure  the  time ;  it  seemed 
long  enough  for  hope  to  freeze  into  despair. 

Surely  at  last  the  eyelids  were  quivering  ;  the  eyes  were 
no  longer  rigid.  There  was  a  vibrating  light  in  them — they 
opened  wide. 


4S!3  KOMOI.A. 

"  Ah  yes  !     You  see  rao — you  know  me  !" 

Tito  know  him;  Init  ho  did  not  know  wliothcr  it  was  life 
or  «loath  that  liad  brout^ht  liini  into  the  ])r<jsoncc  of  his  in- 
jurod  father.  It  might  be  death — and  doatli  might  mean 
this  chill  gloom  with  the  face  of  the  hideous  past  hanging 
ovoi  him  forever. 

But  now  Jkildassarre's  only  dread  -svas,  lest  the  young 
limbs  should  escape  him.     He  pressed  his  knuckles  against 
'oho  round  throat  and  knolt  upon  tlio  chest  with  all  the  force 
of  his  aged  frame.     Lot  death  come  now  ! 

Again  he  kept  his  Avatch  on  the  face.  And  when  the  eyes 
were  rigid  again  he  dared  not  trust  tlicm.  Ho  would  never 
looso  his  hold  till  some  one  came  and  found  them.  Justice 
would  send  some  witness,  and  tlu'ii  he,  IJaldassarro,  would 
declare  that  he  had  killed  this  traitor,  to  whom  ho  had  once 
been  a  father.  They  would,  i)erhaps,  believe  him  now,  and 
then  he  would  be  content  with  the  struggle  of  justice  on 
earth — then  he  would  desire  to  die  with  his  hold  on  this 
body,  and  follow  the  traitor  to  hell  that  he  might  clutch  him 
there. 

And  so  he  knelt,  and  so  ho  pressed  his  knuckles  against 
the  round  throat,  without  trusting  to  the  seeming  death,  till 
the  light  got  strong,  and  he  could  kneel  no  longer.  Then  lu; 
sat  on  the  body,  still  clutching  the  neck  of  the  tunic.  But 
the  hours  went  on,  and  no  witness  came.  No  eyes  descried 
afar  oft"  the  two  luimaa  bodies  among  the  tall  grass  by  the 
river-side.  Florence  was  busy  Avith  greater  affairs,  and  the 
preparation  of  a  do  'per  tragedy. 

Not  long  after  those  two  bodies  were  lying  in  the  grass 
Savonarola  was  being  tortured  and  ci-ying  out  in  his  agony, 
"I  will  confess!" 

It  was  not  until  the  sun  was  westward  that  a  wagon, 
drawn  by  a  mild  gray  o.v,  came  to  the  edge  of  tlu' grassy 
margin  ;  and  as  the  man  Avho  led  it  was  leaning  to  gatlior  up 
the  round  stones  that  lay  heaped  in  readiness  to  be  carried 
away  he  detected  some  startling  object  in  the  grass.  The 
aged  man  had  fallen  forward,  and  his  dead  clutch  was  on 
the  garment  of  the  other.  It  was  not  possible  to  se^^arate 
theni;  nay,  it  was  bettor  to  put  them  into  the  wagon  and 
carry  them  as  they  were  into  the  great  Piazza,  that  notice 
might  bo  given  to  the  Eight. 

As  the  wagon  entered  the  frequented  streets  there  was  a 
growing  crowd  escorting  it  with  it"  strange  burden.  No  one 
knew  tiie  bodies  for  a  long  while,  for  the  age*!  face  had  lalb 
en  forward,  half  hiding  the  younger.  But  before  they  luid 
bccu  moved  out  of  sii^ht  they  had  been  recognized 


BOMOLA.  489 

"  I  know  that  old  man,"  Pievo  cli  Cosimo  had  testified.  "  1 
painted  iiis  likeness  once.  He  is  the  prisoner  who  clutched 
Melema  on  the  steps  of  the  Duomo." 

"  He  is  perhaps  the  same  old  man  who  appeared  at  suppet 
in  my  crardens,"  said  Bernardo  Kuccllai,  one  of  the  Eight. 
'-'I  had  forgotten  him  ;  I  thought  he  had  died  in  prison.  But 
there  is  no  knowing  the  trutli  now." 

Who  shall  put  his  finger  on  the  work  of  justice  and  say,      i 
'-'  It  is  there  ?"     Justice  is  like  the  kingdom  of  God — it  is  not     /  / 
without  us  as  a  fact,  it  is  within  us  as  a  great  yearning.  / 

7 


CHAPTER  LX\an. 

ro3iola's  waking. 


RoMOLA  in  her  boat  passed  from  dreaming  into  long  deep 
sleep,  and  then  again  from  deep  sleep  into  busy  dreaming,  till 
at  last  she  felt  herself  stretching  out  her  arms  in  the  court 
of  the  Bargello,  where  the  flickering  flames  of  the  tapers 
seemed  to  get  stronger  and  stronger  till  the  dark  scene  was 
blotted  out  with  light.  Her  eyes  opened,  and  she  saw  it  was 
the  light  of  morning.  Her  boat  was  lying  still  in  a  little 
creek ;  on  her  right  hand  lay  the  spcckless  sapphire-blue  of 
the  Mediterranean  ;  on  her  left  one  of  those  scenes  which  were 
and  still  are  repeated  again  and  again,  like  a  sweet  rhythm, 
on  the  shores  of  that  loveliest  sea. 

In  a  deep  curve  of  the  mountains  lay  a  breadth  of  green 
land,  curtained  by  gentle  tree-shadowed  slopes  leaning  to- 
wards the  rocky  heights.  Up  these  slopes  might  be  seen 
here  and  there,  gleammg  between  the  tree-tops,  a  pathway 
leading  to  a  little  irregular  mass  of  building  that  seemed  to 
liave  clam1)ered  in  a  hasty  way  up  the  mountain-side,  and 
taken  a  ditficult  stand  there  for  the  sake  of  showing  the  tall 
belfry  as  a  sight  of  beauty  to  the  scattered  and  clustered 
houses  of  the  village  below.  The  rays  of  the  newly-risen  sun 
fell  obliquely  on  the  westward  horn  of  this  crescent-shaped 
nook:  all  else  lay  in  dewy  shadow.  Xo  sound  came  across 
the  stillness  :  the  very  waters  seemed  to  have  curved  them- 
selves there  for  rest. 

The  delicious  sun-rays  fell  on  Romola  and  thrilled  her 
gently  like  a  caress.  8he  lay  motionless,  hardly  watching 
the  scene ;  rather  feeling  simply  the  presence  of  peace  ana 
beauty.  While  we  are  still  in  our  youth  there  can  always 
come,  in  our  early  waking,  moments  when  mere  passive  ex- 
istence is  itself  a  Lethe,  when  the  exauisiteness  of  subtle  in 

21* 


«fO  SOMOLA. 

flofinitc  sensation  creates  a  bliss  wliicli  is  witliout  memory  an.^ 
wilhoiit  (It'sire.  As  the  soil  wannlh  penetrateil  Komola's 
young  limbs,  as  her  eyes  rested  on  this  sequestered  luxuriance, 
it  seemed  that  the  agitatinc;  i)ast  had  glided  away  like  that 
dark  scene  in  the  Jxirgello,  and  that  the  alternuon  dreams  of 
her  girlhood  had  really  come  back  to  her.  For  a  minute  or  two 
:he  oblivion  was  imtroubled ;  she  did  not  even  think  that  she 
could  rest  here  forever — she  only  felt  that  she  rested.  Then 
she  became  distinctly  conscious  that  she  Mas  lying  in  the 
boat  which  had  been  bearing  her  over  the  waters  all  through 
the  night.  Instead  of  bringing  her  to  death  it  had  been  the 
geuily-lulling  cradle  of  a  new  life.  And  in  sj)ite  of  her  even- 
ing ilespair  she  was  glad  that  the  niorning  had  come  to  her 
again:  glad  to  think  that  she  was  resting  in  the  familiar  sun- 
light rather  than  in  the  unknown  regions  of  death.  Could 
slie  not  rest  here?  No  sound  from  Florence  could  reach  her. 
Already  oblivion  was  troubled  ;  from  behind  the  golden  haze 
were  piercing  domes  and  towers  and  walls,  parted  by  a  river 
and  inclosed  by  the  green  hills. 

She  rose  from  her  reclining  posture  and  sat  up  in  the  boat, 
willing,  if  she  could,  to  resist  the  rush  of  thoughts  that  urged 
tliemselvcs  along  with  the  conjecture  how  iar  the  boat  had 
carried  her.  Why  need  she  mind?  This  was  a  sheltered 
nook  where  there  were  simple  villagers  who  would  not  harm 
her.  P""or  a  little  while,  at  least,  she  might  rest  and  resolve 
on  nothing.  Presently  she  would  go  and  get  some  bread  and 
milk,  and  then  she  would  nestle  in  the  green  quiet,  and  feel 
that  there  was  a  pause  in  her  life.  She  turned  to  watch  the 
erescent-shapetl  valley,  that  she  might  get  back  the  soothing 
sense  of  peace  and  beauty  which  she  had  felt  in  her  lirst 
waking. 

She  had  not  been  in  this  attitude  of  contemplation  more 
than  a  icw  minutes  when  aci"oss  the  stillness  there  came  a 
piercing  cry;  not  a  brief  cry,  but  continuous,  and  more  and 
more  intense.  Komola  felt  sure  it  was  the  cry  of  a  little  clnld 
in  distress  that  no  one  came  to  helj).  She  started  up  and  })ut 
one  foot  on  the  side  of  the  boat  ready  to  leap  on  to  the 
beach  ;  but  she  }>aused  there  and  listened  :  the  mother  of  the 
child  must  be  near,  the  cry  must  soon  cease.  r>ut  it  went  on, 
and  drew  liomola  so  irresistibly,  seeming  the  more  j)iteousto 
her  for  the  sense  of  peace  which  had  jnx'ceded  it,  that  she  jump- 
ed on  to  the  beach  and  walked  many  paces  before  she  knew  what 
direct  ion  she  would  take.  The  cry,  she  though  t,  cunc  from  some 
rough  garden  growth  many  yards  on  her  right  hand,  wiiere  she 
saw  a  halfruined  hovel.  She  climbed  over  a  low  broken  stone 
Jfence,  and  made  licr  way  across  patches  of  weedy  green  crops 


UOMOLA.  491 

and  vipe  but  neglected  corn.  The  cry  grew  plainer,  and,  con 
vinced  that  she  was  right,  she  hastened  towards  the  hovel ;  but 
even  in  that  hurried  walk  she  felt  an  oppressive  change  in  the  air 
as  she  left  the  sea  behind.  AVas  there  some  taint  lurking  among 
the  green  luxuriance  that  had  seemed  such  an  inviting  shel- 
ter from  the  heat  of  the  coming  day  ?  She  could  see  the  open- 
ing into  the  hovel  noAV,  and  the  cry  was  darting  through  her 
like  a  pain.  The  next  moment  her  foot  Avas  within  the  door- 
w^ay,  but  the  sight  she  beheld  in  the  sombre  light  arrested 
her  Avitli  a  shock  of  awe  and  horror.  On  the  straw  with 
which  the  floor  Avas  scattered  lay  three  dead  bodies,  one  of 
a  tall  man,  one  of  a  girl  about  eight  years  old,  and  one  of  a 
young  woman  whose  long  blnck  hair  was  being  clutched  and 
pulled  by  a  living  child — the  child  that  was  sending  forth 
the  piercing  cry.  Romo^a's  experience  in  the  haunts  of  death 
and  disease  made  thought  and  action  prompt :  she  lifted  the 
little  living  child,  and  in  trying  to  soothe  it  on  her  bosom, 
still  bent  to  look  at  the  bodies  and  see  if  they  were  really 
dead.  The  strongly  marked  type  of  race  in  their  features 
and  their  peculiar  garb  made  her  conjecture  that  they  were 
Spanish  or  Portuguese  Jews,  who  had  perhaps  been  pat  ashore 
and  abandoned  there  by  rapacious  sailors,  to  whom  their  prop- 
erty remained  as  a  prey.  Such  things  were  happening  con- 
tinually to  Jews  compelled  to  abandon  their  homes  by  the 
Inquisition :  the  cruelty  of  greed  thrust  them  from  the  sea, 
and  the  cnielty  of  superstition  thrust  them  back  to  it. 

"  But,  surely,"  thought  Romola,  "  I  shall  find  some  woman 
in  the  village  whose  mother's  heart  will  not  let  her  refuse  to 
tend  this  helpless  child — if  the  real  mother  is  indeed  dead." 

This  doubt  remained,  because  while  the  man  and  girl  look- 
ed emaciated  and  also  showed  signs  of  having  been  long  dead, 
the  woman  seemed  to  have  been  hardier,  and  had  not  quite 
lost  the  robustness  of  her  form.  Romola,  kneeling,  Avas  about 
to  lay  her  hand  on  the  heart ;  but  as  she  lifted  the  piece  of 
yelloAv  Avoollen  drapery  that  lay  across  the  bosom,  she  saAV 
the  purple  spots  Avhich  marked  the  familiar  pestilence.  Then 
it  struck  her  that  if  the  villagers  kncAV  of  this  she  might  have 
more  difficulty  than  she  had  expected  in  getting  help  from 
them ;  they  Avould  perhaps  shrink  from  her  Avith  that  child 
in  her  arms.  But  she  had  money  to  oifer  them,  and  they 
Avould  not  refuse  to  give  her  some  goat's  milk  in  exchange 
for  it. 

She  set  out  at  once  tOAvards  the  village,  her  mind  filled 
noAv  Avith  the  effort  to  soothe  the  little  dark  creature,  and 
Avith  Avondering  hoAV  she  should  Avin  some  woman  to  be  good 
to  it.     She  could  not  help  hoping  a  little  in  a  certain  aAve  she 


C02  RftMuLA. 

hud  observed  herself  to  inspire,  when  she  appeared,  unknowa 
and  unexpected,  ill  lier  religious  dress.  As  she  passed  across 
a  Ijreadth  of  cultivated  <j;round  she  noticed,  \vith  wonder, 
that  little  patches  of  corn  mingled  with  the  other  croj)s  liad 
been  left  to  overrijieness  untouchecl  Ijy  the  sickle,  and  that 
golden  apples  and  dark  figs  lay  rotting  on  the  weedy  grountl. 
There  were  grassy  s])aees  within  sight,  but  no  cow, or  sheep,  or 
goat.  The  stillness  began  to  liave  something  fearful  in  it  to 
Uomola;  she  hurried  along  towards  the  thickest  cluster  of 
houses,  where  there  would  be  the  most  life  to  aii])eal  to  on 
behalf  of  the  helpless  life  she  carried  in  her  arms.  But  she 
}iad  picked  up  two  ligs,  and  bit  little  pieces  from  tlic  sweet 
pul)*  to  still  the  child. 

She  entered  between  two  lines  of  dwellings.  It  was  tirno 
tliat  villagers  should  have  been  stirring  long  ago,  but  not  a 
soul  was  in  sight.  The  air  was  becoming  more  and  more 
oppressive,  laden,  it  seemed,  with  some  horrible  impurity. 
There  was  a  door  open  ;  she  looked  in,  and  saw  grim  empti- 
ness. Another  open  door;  and  through  that  slie  saw  a  man 
lying  dead  with  all  his  garments  on,  his  head  lying  athwart 
a*  spade-handle,  and  an  earthen-ware  cruse  m  his  hand  as  it 
lie  had  fallen  suddenly. 

Ivomola  felt  horror  taking  possession  of  her.  Was  she  in 
a  village  of  the  unburied  dead  ?  She  wanted  to  listen  if 
there  were  any  faint  sound,  but  the  child  cried  out  afresh 
when  she  ceased  to  feed  it,  and  the  cry  iilled  her  ears.  At 
last  she  saw  a  ligure  crawling  slowly  out  of  a  house,  and 
soon  sinking  back  in  a  sitting  posture  against  the  wall.  She 
liastened  towardsthe  figure  ;  it  was  a  young  woman  in  fevered 
anguish,  and  she,  too,  held  a  ])itcher  in  her  hand.  As  Romo- 
la  approached  her  she  did  not  start  ;  the  one  need  was  too 
absorbing  for  any  other  idea  to  impress  itself  on  her. 

"  Water  !  get  me  water  !"shc  said,  with  a  moaning  utter 
iAiice. 

liomola  stooped  to  take  the  pitcher,  and  said  gently  in 
her  ear,  "  You  shall  have  water ;  can  you  point  towards  ♦.ho 
well  V" 

The  hand  was  lifted  towardsthe  more  distant  end  of  the  lit- 
tle street,  and  Komola  set  off  at  once  with  as  much  speed  aa 
she  could  use  umh'r  the  ditliculty  of  carrying  the  ])1tcher  as 
well  as  feeding  the  child.  JJut  the  little  one  was  gettii'g 
more  content  as  the  morsels  of  sweet  pulp  were  repeated,  and 
ceased  to  distress  her  with  its  cry,  so  that  she  could  give  a 
less  distracted  attention  to  the  objects  around  her. 

The  well  lay  twenty  yards  or  more  beyond  the  end  of  tho 
street,  and  as  Komola  was  approaching  it  her  eyes  were  di- 


ROMOLA.  493 

rfrcted  to  the  opposite  green  slope  immediately  below  the 
church.  High  uji,  on  a  patch  of  grass  between  the  trees,  she 
bad  descried  a  cow  and  a  couple  of  goats,  and  she  tried  to 
trace  a  line  of  path  that  Avould  lead  her  close  to  that  cheer- 
ino;  sisfht,  when  once  she  had  done  her  errand  to  the  Avell. 
Occupied  in  this  way,  she  was  not  aware  that  she  was  very 
near  the  well,  and  that  some  one  approaching  it  on  the  other 
side  had  fixed  a  pair  of  astonished  eyes  upon  her. 
I  Roniola  certainly  presented  a  sight  which,  at  that  moment 
and  in  that  place,  could  hardly  have  been  seen  without  some 
pausing  and  palpitation.  With  her  gaze  fixed  intently  on 
the  distant  slope,  the  long  lines  of  her  thick  gray  garment 
giving  a  gliding  character  to  her  rapid  walk,  her  hair  rolling 
backward  and  illuminated  on  the  left  side  by  the  sun-rays, 
the  little  olive  baby  on  her  right  arm  now  looking  out  with 
jet  black  eyes,  she  might  well  startle  that  youth  of  fifteen, 
accustomed  to  swing  the  censer  in  the  presence  of  a  Madon- 
na less  fair  and  marvellous  than  this. 

"  She  carries  a  pitcher  in  her  hand — to  fetch  water  for  the 
sick.  It  is  the  Holy  Mother,  come  to  take  care  of  the  people 
who  have  the  pestilence." 

It  was  a  sight  of  awe  :  she  would,  perhaps,  be  angry  with 
those  who  fetched  Avater  for  themselves  only.  The  youth 
flung  down  his  vessel  in  terror,  and  Romola,  aware  now  of 
some  one  near  her,  saw  the  black  and  white  figure  fly  as  if 
for  dear  life  towards  the  slope  she  had  just  been  contempla- 
ting. But  remembering  the  parched  sufierer,  she  half  filled 
her  pitcher  quickly  and  liastened  back. 

Entering  the  house  to  look  for  a  small  cup,  she  saw  salt 
meat  and  meal :  there  were  no  signs  of  want  in  the  dwelling. 
With  nimble  movement  she  seated  baby  on  the  ground,  and 
lifted  a  cup  of  water  to  the  sufierer,  who  drank  eagerly,  and 
then  closed  her  eyes  and  leaned  her  head  backward,  seeming 
to  give  herself  up  to  the  sense  of  relief  Presently  she  open- 
ed her  eyes,  and,  looking  at  Romola,  said,  languidly, 

''  Who  are  you  ?" 

"  I  came  over  the  sea,"  said  Rom^^la.  "  I  only  came  this 
morning.     Are  all  the  people  dead  in  these  houses?" 

"  I  think  they  are  all  ill  now — all  that  are  not  dead.  My 
lather  and  my  sister  lie  dead  up  stall's,  and  there  is  no  one  to 
bury  them  :  and  soon  I  shall  die," 

"  Xot  so,  I  hope,"  said  Romola.  "  I  am  come  to  take  care 
of  you.  I  am  used  to  the  pestilence  ;  I  am  not  afraid.  But 
there  must  be  some  left  who  are  not  ill,  I  saAv  a  youth  rum 
ning  towards  the  mountain  when  I  went  to  the  Avell." 

"  I  can  not  tell.     When  the  pestilence  came  a  great  manj 


t94  KOMOLa. 

people  wont  iiway, and  drove  oft' the  cows  aiul  goats.  Give 
UK'  iiiort'  water  I' 

lioinola,  siisj)ecting  that  if  she  followed  tlio  direction  of 
the  youtlTs  lliglit  she  should  liiid  some  men  and  women  who 
were  still  healthy  and  able,  determined  to  seek  them  out  at 
onee,  that  she  miglit  at  least  win  them  to  take  care  of  the 
child,  and  leave  her  free  to  come  back  and  see  how  many  liv- 
itig  needed  helj),  and  how  many  dead  needid  burial.  She 
trusted  to  her  powei's  of  persuasion  to  conquer  the  aid  of  the 
timorous,  v>-hcn  once  she  knew  what  was  to  be  done. 

Promising  the  sick  woman  to  come  back  to  her,  she  lifted 
the  dark  bantling  again,  and  set  otf  toAvards  the  slope.  Sho 
felt  no  burden  of  choice  on  her  now,  no  U)nging  for  death. 
She  was  thinking  how  she  would  go  to  the  other. sullerers  as 
she  had  gone  to  that  fevered  woman. 

IJut,  with  the  child  on  her  arm,  it  was  not  so  easy  to  her 
as  usual  to  walk  np  a  slo|)e,  and  it  seemed  a  long  while  be- 
fore the  winding  j)ath  took  her  near  the  cow  and  the  goats. 
Slu'  was  beginning  herself  to  feel  faint  from  heat,  hunger,  and 
thirst,  and  as  she  reached  a  double  turning  she  paused  to 
consider  whether  she  Avould  not  v>ait  near  the  cow,  which 
some  one  was  likely  to  come  and  milk  soon,  rather  than  toil 
uj)  to  the  church  before  she  had  taken  any  rest.  JJaising  her 
eyes  to  measure  the  steep  distance,  slie  saw  peejiing  between 
the  boughs,  not  more  than  live  yards  olf,  a  broad  round  iace, 
watching  her  attentively,  and  lower  down  the  black  skirt  of 
a  j)riest's  garment,  and  a  hand  grasping  a  bucket.  She  stood 
mutely  observing;  and  the  face,  too,  remained  molioidess. 
Ivomola  liad  often  witnessed  the  overpowering  force  of  dread 
in  cases  of  pestilence,  and  she  was  cautious. 

liaising  her  voice  in  a  tone  of  gentle  ]»leading,  she  said,  "  I 
came  over  the  sea.  I  am  hungry,  and  so  is  the  child.  Will 
you  nf)t  give  us  some  milk':'" 

Homola  had  divined  ))art  of  the  truth,  but  she  had  not 
divined  that  preoccupat  ion  of  the  ])riest's  mind  which  charged 
iu'r  words  with  a  strangt-  sii^nificance.  Only  a  little  while 
ago  the  young  acolyte  had  brought  word  to  the  I'adre  that 
he  ])ad  seen  the  Holy  Mother  with  the  Babe,  fetching  water 
f(;r  tlie  sick  :  she  was  as  tall  as  the  cypresses,  and  had  a  light 
about  her  liead  and  slu^  looked  np  at  the  church.  The  pieva- 
no*  iiad  not  listened  with  entire  beliif:  lu;  lia<l  been  more 
than  fifty  years  in  the  world  without  having  any  vision  of 
tile  Madonna,  ;uid  lu'  thought  the  boy  might  have  misinter- 
ireted  the  unexpected  a])pearaiice  of  a  villager.  ]>ut  ho  had 
;K'en  made  uneasy,  and  before  venturing  to  come  down  and 

*  rarisb  priest. 


I 


ROMOLA.  495 

milk  his  cow  he  had  repeated  many  aves.  The  pievano's 
conscience  tormented  him  a  little:  he  trembled  at  the  pesti- 
lence ;  but  he  also  trembled  at  the  thought  of  the  mild-faced 
Mother,  conscious  that  that  Invisible  Mercy  miglit  demand 
something  more  of  him  than  prayers  and  "Hails."  In  this 
state  of  mind — unable  to  banish  the  image  the  boy  had  raised 
of  the  Mother  with  the  glory  about  her  tending  the  sick — the 
pievano  had  come  down  to  milk  his  cow,  and  had  suddenly 
caught  siglit  of  Roniola  pausing  at  the  parted  Avay.  Her 
pleading  words,  with  their  strange  refinement  of  tone  and  ac- 
cent, instead  of  being  explanatory,  had  a  preternatural  sound 
for  him.  Yet  he  did  not  quite  believe  he  saw  the  Holy 
Mother:  he  was  in  a  state  of  alarmed  hesitation.  If  any 
thing  miraculous  were  happening,  he  felt  there  Avas  no  strong 
presumption  that  the  miracle  would  be  in  his  favor.  He 
dared  not  run  away  ;  he  dared  not  advance. 

"Come  down,"  said  Romola,  after  a  pause,  "Do  not 
fear.  Fear  rather  to  deny  food  to  the  hungry  when  they 
ask  you." 

A  moment  after  the  boughs  were  parted,  and  the  complete 
figure  of  a  thick-set  priest,  Avith  a  broad,  harmless  face,  his 
bfack  frock  much  Avorn  and  soiled,  stood,  bucket  in  hand, 
looking  at  her  timidly,  and  still  keeping  aloof  as  he  took  the 
path  towards  the  cow  in  silence. 

Romola  followed  him  and  Avatched  him  Avithout  speaking 
again,  as  he  seated  himself  against  the  tethered  coav,  and, 
•when  he  had  nervously  draAvn  some  milk,  gave  it  to  her  in  a 
brass  cup  he  carried  Avith  liini  in  the  bucket.  As  Romola  put 
the  cup  to  tlie  lips  of  the  eager  child,  and  afterwards  drank 
some  milk  herself,  the  Padre  observed  her  from  his  wooden 
stool  with  a  timidity  that  changed  its  character  a  little.  He 
recognized  the  HebrcAv  baby  ;  he  Avas  certain  that  he  had  a 
substantial  Avoman  before  him  ;  but  there  Avas  still  something 
strange  and  unaccountable  in  Roraola's  presence  in  this  spot, 
and  the  Padre  had  a  presentiment  that  things  Avere  going  to 
change  Avith  him.  Moreover,  that  Hebrew  baby  Avas  terribly 
associated  Avith  the  dread  of  pestilence. 

Xevertheless,  Avhen  Romola  smiled  at  the  little  one  suck- 
ing its  own  milky  lips,  and  stretched  out  the  Ijrass  cup 
again,  saying,  "Give  us  more,  good  father,"  he  obeyed  lesa 
nerA'ously  then  before. 

Romola,  on  her  side,  Avas  not  unobservant ;  and  when  the 
second  supply  of  milk  had  been  drunk,  she  looked  down  at 
the  round-headed  man,  and  said,  with  mild  decision, 

"  And  now  tell  me,  father,  how  this  pestilence  came,  anr! 
why  you  let  your  people  die  Avithout  the  sacraments,  and  he 


496  komola. 

un])uricil.  For  I  am  come  over  the  sea  to  help  those  who 
;iro  k'l't  alive — and  you,  too,  will  help  them  now." 

He  told  her  the  story  of  the  ])estilcnce;  and  while  he  was 
telliuLT  it,  the  youth  who  ha<l  fled  before  had  come  peej>int; 
and  advanciiiLr  ijradnally  till  at  last  he  stood  and  watched 
the  scene  from  behind  a  neighboring  bush. 

Three  families  of  Jews,  twenty  souls  in  all,  had  been  put 
ashore  many  weeks  ago,  some  of  them  already  ill  of  the  pes* 
tilence.  The  villagers,  said  the  ])riest,  had  of  course  refused 
to  give  shelter  to  the  miscreants,  otherwise  than  in  a  distant 
hovel,  and  under  lieaps  of  straw.  IJut  when  the  strangers 
l)ad  died  of  the  ])lague,  and  some  of  the  jieople  had  thrown 
the  bodies  into  the  sea,  the  sea  had  brouglit  them  back  again 
in  a  great  storm,  and  every  body  was  smitten  with  terror. 
A  grave  was  dug,  and  the  bodies  were  buried;  but  then  the 
pestilence  attacked  the  Christians,  and  the  greater  number 
of  the  villagers  went  away  over  the  mountain,  diiving  away 
their  few  cattle,  and  carrying  ])rovisions.  The  priest  liad  not 
fled  ;  he  liad  staid  and  piayed  for  the  ]>eople,  and  he  had  pre- 
vailed on  the  youth  Jacopo  to  stay  with  iiiin  ;  but  he  con- 
fessed that  a  mortal  terror  of  the  ])lague  liad  taken  hold  of 
him,  and  he  had  not  dared  to  go  down  into  the  valley. 

"  You  will  fear  no  longer,  father,"  said  Komola,  in  a  tone 
of  encouraging  authoiity  ;  "you  will  come  down  with  me, 
and  we  will  see  who  is  living,  and  we  Avill  look  for  the  dead 
to  bury  them.  I  have  walked  about  for  months  where  the 
pestilence  was,  and  see,  I  am  strong.  Jacopo  will  come  with 
us,"  she  added,  motioning  to  the  peeping  lad,  who  came  slow- 
ly from  behind  his  defensive  bush,  as  if  invisible  threads  were 
dragging  him. 

"  Come,  Jacopo,"  said  Romola,  again  smiling  at  him,  "  yo\i 
will  carry  the  child  forme.  See!  your  arms  are  strong,  and 
I  am  tired." 

That  was  a  dreadful  jtroposal  to  Jacopo,  and  to  the  priest 
also,  but  they  were  both  under  a  peculiar  influence  forcing 
them  to  obey.  The  suspicion  tliat  Komola  was  a  supernatu- 
ral form  was  dissipated,  but  their  minds  Avere  filled  instead 
A!th  the  more  elfective  sense  that  she  was  a  human  being' 
ivhom  Ci£>d  had  sent  over  the  sea  to  command  them. 

"  Now  we  will  carry  down  the  milk,"  said  Komola,  "  and 
T'CC  if  any  one  wants  it." 

So  tiicy  went  all  together  down  the  slope,  and  that  morn- 
ing the  suflerers  saw  help  come  to  them  in  their  despair. 
There  were  hardly  more  tlum  a  score  alive  in  the  Avhole  val- 
ley;  but  all  of  these  were  comlorted,  most  were  saved,  and 
the  dead  were  buried. 


ROMOLA.  491 

In  this  way  days,  weeks,  and  months  passed  with  Romola 
till  the  men  were  diggino;  and  sowing  again,  till  the  women 
smiled  at  her  as  they  carried  their  ^I'eat  vases  on  their  lieads 
to  the  well,  and  the  Hebrew  baby  was  a  tottering,  tumbling 
Christian,  Benedetto  by  name,  having  been  baptized  in  the 
church  on  the  mountain  side.  But  by  that  time  she  herself 
was  suiFering  from  the  fatigue  and  languor  that  miist  come 
after  a  continuous  strain  on  mind  and  body.  She  had  taken 
for  her  dwelling  one  of  the  houses  abandoned  by  their  own- 
ers, standing  a  little  aloof  from  the  village  street ;  and  here 
on  a  thick  heap  of  clean  straw — a  delicious  bed  for  those 
who  do  not  dream  of  down — she  felt  glad  to  lie  still  through 
most  of  the  daylight  hours,  taken  care  of,  along  with  the  lit- 
tle Benedetto,  by  a  woman  whom  the  pestilence  had  wid- 
owed. 

Every  day  the  Padre  and  Jacopo  and  the  small  flock  of 
surviving  villagers  paid  their  visit  to  this  cottage  to  see  the 
blessed  Lady,  and  to  bring  her  of  their  best  as  an  offering — 
honey,  fresh  cakes,  eggs,  and  polenta.  It  was  a  sight  they 
could  none  of  them  forget,  a  sight  they  all  told  of  in  their  old 
age — how  the  sweet  and  sainted  lady  with  her  fair  face,  her 
golden  hair,  and  her  brown  eyes  that  had  a  blessing  in  them, 
lay  weary  with  her  labors  after  she  had  been  sent  over  the 
sea  to  help  them  in  their  extremity,  and  how  the  queer  little 
black  Benedetto  used  to  crawl  about  the  straw  by  her  side 
and  want  every  tiling  that  was  brought  to  hei",  and  she  al- 
ways gave  him  a  bit  of  what  she  took,  and  told  them  if  they 
loved  her  they  must  be  good  to  Benedetto. 

Many  legends  were  afterwards  told  in  that  valley  about 
the  blessed  Lady  who  came  over  the  sea,  but  they  were  le- 
gends by  which  all  who  heard  might  know  that  in  times 
gone  by  a  woman  had  done  beautiful  loving  deeds  there,  res- 
cuing those  Avho  were  ready  to  perish. 


CHAPTER  LXLX. 

HOMEWARD. 

Ijt  those  silent  wintry  hours  when  Romola  lay  resting 
irom  her  weariness,  her  mind,  travelling  back  over  the  past, 
and  gazmg  across  the  undefined  distance  of  the  future,  saw 
all  objects  from  a  new  position.  Her  experience  since  the 
moment  of  her  waking  in  the  boat  had  come  to  her  with  as 
strong  an  effect  as  that  of  the  fresh  seal  on  the  dissolving 
wax.      She  had  felt  herself  without  bonds,  without  motive ; 


498  ROMOLA. 


1 


y 


sinldni^  in  mere  cij'^istic  cninplaiiiini:^  that  llfo  could  brli\<» 
her  no  content ;  fcelinij  a  ri^ht  to  say,''  1  am  tired  vA'  life;  I 
want  to  die."  That  thought  had  sobbed  within  her  as  she 
fell  asleep,  but  from  the  moment  after  her  wakin£r  when  the 
cry  had  drawn  her,  she  had  not  even  reflected,  as  she  used  to 
do  iu  Florence,  that  she  was  glad  to  live  because  she  could 
lighten  sorrow — she  had  simply  lived,  with  so  energetic  an 
impulsi'  to  share  the  life  around  her,  t(»  answer  the  call  of 
need,  ami  do  the  work  which  cried  aloud  to  be  done,  that  the 
reasons  for  living,  enduring,  laboring,  never  took  the  form  of 
argument 

The  experience  was  like  a  new  baptism  to  Komola.  Tu 
F'lorence  tlie  sim))ler  relations  of  the  human  being  to  his  fel- 
low-nu'ii  had  been  complicated  for  her  with  all  the  special 
ties  of  marriage,  the  State,  and  religious  ■discij)leship,  and 
■when  these  hail  disai)poiiited  her  trust  the  shock  seemed  to 
have  shaken  her  aloof  from  life  and  stunned  her  sympathy. 
But  now  she  said,  "  It  was  7nere  baseness  in  me  to  desire 
death.  If  every  thing  else  is  doubtful,  this  suftering  that  I 
can  help  is  certain;  if  the  glory  of  the  cress  is  an  illusion,  the 
sorrow  is  only  the  truer.  While  the  strength  is  in  my  arm 
I  will  stretch  it  out  to  the  fainting;  while  the  light  visits 
my  eyes  they  shall  seek  the  forsaken." 

And  then  the  past  arose  with  a  fresh  appeal  to  her.  Iler 
work  in  this  green  valley  was  done,  and  the  emotions  that 
Avere  disengaged  from  the  ]>eo])le  immediately  around  her 
rushed  back  into  the  old  ileep  channels  of  use  and  alVection. 
That  rare  possibility  of  self-contemplation  which  comes  iu 
any  coin])lcti'  severance  from  our  wonted  life  made  her  Judge 
herself  as  ^ln-  had  never  done  l)efore;  the  comjmnction  which 
is  inseparable  from  a  sympathetic  nature  keenly  alive  to  the 
possible  ex])erience  of  others  began  to  stir  in  her  with  grow- 
ing force.  She  (juestioiied  the  justness  of  her  own  conclu- 
sions, of  her  own  deeds  ;  she  had  been  rash,  arrogant,  always 
dissatisfied  that  others  were  not  good  enough,  while  she  her- 
fself  had  not  l)ceti  true  to  what  her  soul  had  once  recognized 
as  the  best.  She  began  to  condemn  her  llight :  after  all,  it 
liad  been  cowardly  self-care  ;  the  grounds  on  which  Savona- 
rola had  once  taken  her  back  were  truer,  deeper  than  the 
grounds  she  had  had  for  her  second  flight.  How  could  she 
feel  the  needs  of  others  and  not  feel  above  all  the  needs  of 
the  nearest. 

l?ut  tlien  '.■■un.'  reaction  ngninst  such  s<lf-reproach.  The 
memory  ol' her  life  with  Tito,  of  the  conditions  which  made 
their  real  union  impossible,  while  their  external  union  im- 
po.sed  a  set  of  false  duties  on  lier  which  were  essentially  the 


KOMOLA.  499 

concealment  and  sanctioning  of  what  her  mind  revolted  from, 
told  her  that  flight  had  been  her  only  resource.     All  minds, 
except  such  as  are  delivered  from  doubt  by  dullness  of  sen- 
sibility, must  be  subject  to  this  recurring  conflict  where  the 
many-twisted  conditions  of  life  have  forbidden  the  fulfillment    ^ 
of  a  bond.     For  in  strictness  there  is  no  replacing  of  rela-^^i- — 
tions:  the  presence  of  the  new  does  not  nullify  the  failure   / 
and  breach  of  the  old.     Life  has  lost  its  perfection  :  it  has 
been  maimed ;  and  until  the  wounds  are  quite  scarred  con- 
science continually  casts  backv>'ard  doubting  glances. 

Romola  shrank  with  dread  from  the  renewal  of  her  prox- 
imity to  Tito,  and  yet  she  was  uneasy  that  she  had  put  her- 
self out  of  i-each  of  knowing  Avhat  was  his  fate — uneasy  that 
the  moment  miglit  yet  come  when  he  would  be  in  misery 
and  need  her.  There  v.-as  still  a  thread  of  pain  within  her, 
testifying  to  those  words  of  Fra  Girolamo,  that  she  could 
not  cease  to  be  a  wife.  Could  any  thing  utterly  cease  for 
her  that  had  once  mingled  itself  with  the  current  of  her 
heart's  blood  ? 

Florence,  and  all  lier  life  there,  had  come  back  to  her  like 
hunger;  her  feelings  could  not  go  v,andering  after  the  possi- 
ble and  the  vague  :  their  living  fibre  was  fed  Avith  the  niem- 
ory  of  familiar  tilings.  And  the  thought  that  she  had  di- 
vided herself  from  them  forever  became  more  and  more  im- 
portunate in  these  hours  that  were  unfilled  with  action. 
What  if  Fra  Girolamo  had  been  wrong  ?  What  if  the  life 
of  Florence  was  a  web  of  inconsistencies  ?  Was  she,  then, 
something  higher,  that  she  should  shake  the  dust  from  off 
her  feet  and  say,  "  This  Avorld  is  not  good  enough  for  me  ?" 
If  she  had  been  really  higher,  she  would  not  so  easily  have 
lost  all  her  trust. 

Her  indignant  grief  for  her  godfather  had  no  longer  com- 
plete possession  of  her,  and  her  sense  of  debt  to  Savonarola 
was  recovering  predominance.  Kotliing  that  had  come,  or 
was  to  come,  could  do  away  with  the  fact  that  there  had  ' 
been  a  great  inspiration  in  him  which  had  waked  a  new  life 
in  her.  Who,  in  all  her  experience,  could  demand  the  same 
gratitude  from  her  as  he  ?  His  errors — might  they  not  bring 
calamities  ? 

She  could  not  rest.  She  hardly  knew  whether  it  was  her 
fetrength  returning  with  the  budding  leaves  that  made  her 
active  as^ain,  or  whetlier  it  was  her  eager  longing  to  get 
nearer  Florence.  She  did  not  imagine  herself  daring  to  en- 
ter  Florence,  but  the  desire  to  be  near  enough  to  learn  what 
was  happening  there  urged  itself  with  a  strength  that  exo^-«' 
ded  all  other  purposes. 


coo  ROMOI.A. 

And  one  INIarch  morning  the  people  in  the  valley  ■were 
patlicri'd  tofjether  to  sec  tlie  Messed  Lady  depart.  Jacopo 
liad  litelied  a  mule  for  lii-r,  and  was  going  with  her  ovei 
the  mountains.  The  Padre,  too,  was  going  with  her  to  the 
nearest  town,  that  he  might  help  her  in  Uarniiig  the  safest 
way  by  whieh  she  might  get  to  Pistoja.  Her  store  of  trin- 
kets and  money,  untouched  in  this  valley,  was  abundant  for 
her  needs. 

If  Komola  had  been  less  drawn  by  the  longing  that  was 
taking  her  away,  it  would  ha\  e  bt'cu  a  hard  moment  Ibr  lu-r 
when  she  walked  along  the  village  street  for  the  last  time, 
while  the  Padre  and  Jacopo,  with  the  mule  were  awaiting 
her  near  the  well.  Her  steps  were  hindei"ed  by  the  wailing 
people,  who  knelt  and  kissed  her  liands,  then  clung  to  her 
f.kirts  and  kissed  the  gray  folds,  crying,  "  Ah,  why  will  you 
go,  when  the  good  season  is  beginning  and  the  crops  will  be 
plentiful?     Why  will  you  go?" 

"  Do  not  be  sorry,"  said  Komola ;  "  you  are  well  now,  and 
I  shall  remember  you.  I  must  go  and  see  if  my  own  people 
want  me." 

"  Ah,  yes,  if  they  have  the  pestilence  !" 

"  Look  at  us  again,  ]\Iadoima  !" 

"Yes,  yes,  we  Mill  be  good  to  the  little  Benedetto  !" 

At  last  Pomola  mounted  her  mule,  but  a  vigorous  scream- 
ing from  Benedetto  as  he  saw  her  turn  from  him  in  this  new 
position,  was  an  excuse  for  all  the  ]ieople  to  follow  her  and 
insist  that  he  must  ride  on  the  mule's  neck  to  the  loot  of  the 
slope. 

The  parting  must  come  at  last,  but  as  Komola  turned  con- 
tinually Ix'fore  she  jtassed  out  of  sight,  she  saw  the  little 
fluck  lingering  to  catch  the  last  waving  of  her  hand. 


CHAFrKK  LXX. 

MEETING     AGA  IN. 


On  the  fourteenth  of  April  Komola  was  once  more  within, 
the  walls  of  Florence.  Unable  to  rest  at  Pistoja,  where  con- 
tradictory reports  reached  her  about  the  Trial  by  Fire,  she 
had  gone  on  to  Prato;  and  was  beginning  to  think  that  she 
shoidd  be  drawn  on  to  Florence  in  spite  of  dread,  Avhen  she 
encountered  that  monk  of  San  S])irito  who  had  been  her  god- 
father's confessor.  From  him  she  leariu'd  the  full  story  of 
Savonarola's  arrest  and  of  her  husl»and's  death.  This  An- 
gubtinian  monk  had  been  in  the  stream  of  ueople  who  had 


UOilOLA,  501 

followed  the  wagon  with  its  awful  burden  into  the  Piazza, 
and  he  could  telfher  what  Avas  generally  known  in  Florence 
— that  Tito  had  escaped  from  an  assaulting  mob  by  leaping 
into  the  Arno,  but  had  been  murdered  on  the  bank  by  an  old 
man  who  had  long  had  an  enmity  against  him.  But  Romo- 
la  understood  the  catastrophe  as  no  one  else  did.  Of  Sayo' 
narola  the  monk  told  her,  in  that  tone  of  unfavorable  preju- 
dice Avhich  was  usual  in  the  Black  Brethren  (Frati  Xeri)  to- 
■wards  the  brother  who  showed  white  under  his  black,  that 
lie  had  confessed  himself  a  deceiver  of  the  people. 

Romola  paused  no  longer.  That  evening  she  was  in 
Florence,  sitting  in  agitated  silence  under  the  exclamations 
of  joy  and  Availing,  mingled  with  exuberant  narrative,  which 
were  poured  into  her  ears  by  Monna  Brigida,  who  had  retro- 
graded to  false  hair  in  Romola's  absence,  but  now^  drew  it 
off  again  and  declared  she  would  not  mind  being  gray,  if  her 
dear'child  would  stay  with  her.  "  ~^ 

Romola  was  too  deeply  moved  by  the  main  events  wdiich 
she  had  known  before  coming  to  Florence  to  be  wrought 
upon  by  the  doubtful  gossiping  details  added  in  Brigida's 
narrative.  The  tragedy  of  her  husband's  death,  of  Fra  Giro- 
lanio's  confession  of  duplicity  under  the  coercion  of  torture, 
left  her  hardly  any  power  of  apprehending  minor  circum- 
stances. All  the  mental  activity  she  could  exert  under  that 
load  of  awe-stricken  grief  was  absorbed  by  two  purposes 
which  must  supersede  every  other ;  to  try  and  see  Savona- 
rola, and  to  learn  Avhat  had  become  of  Tessa  and  the  chil- 
dren. 

"  Tell  me,  cousin,"  she  said  abruptly,  when  Monna  Brigi- 

da's  tongue  had  run  quite  away  from  troubles  into  projects 

•  of  Romola's  living  Avith  her,  "  has  any  thing  been  seen  or 

said  since  Tito's  death  of  a  young  Avonian  Avith  tAvo  little 

children  ?" 

Brigida  started,  rounded  her  eyes,  and  lifted  up  her  hands. 

"  Cristo  !  no.  What !  Avas  he  so  bad  as  that,  my  poor 
child  ?  Ah,  then,  that  Avas  Avhy  you  Avent  away,  and  left  me 
w^ord  only  that  you  Avent  of  your  own  free-will.  Well,  Avell ; 
if  I'd  knoVn  that  I  shouldn't  have  thought  you  so  strange 
and  flighty.  For  I  did  say  to  myself,  though  I  didn't  tell 
any  body  else, '  "What  was  she  to  go  aAvay  from  her  husband 
for,  leaving  him  to  mischief,  only  because  they  cut  poor  Ber- 
nardo's head  off?  She's  got  her  father's  temper,'  I  said, 
'  that's  what  it  is.'  Well,  Avell ;  never  scold  me,  child :  Bardo 
was  fierce,  you  can't  deny  it.  But  if  you  had  only  told  me 
the  truth,  that  there  Avas  a  young  hussy  and  children,  I 
should  have  understood  it  all.     Any  thing  seen  or  said  of 


502  HOMOLA. 

her?  No;  and  the  less  the  bettir.  They  sfiy  enough  of  ill 
about  him  withouc  that.  But  since  tlial  was  the  reason  you 
■went — ' 

"  No,  dear  cousin,"  said  liuinola,  iiiterru|>liiiLC  lier  earnest- 
ly, "  })ray  do  not  talk  so.  I  wisli  above  all  things  to  find 
that  young  woman  and  her  eliildreii,  and  to  take  care  of  them. 
They  are  (juite  lu'lpless.  Sav  nothing  against  it :  that  is  the 
thing  I  shall  d<.  first  of  all."' 

"  Well,"  said  Monna  Brigida,  shrugging  her  shoulders  and 
■jowi'ring  her  voice  with  an  air  of  ])uzzled  discoinfituri-,  "if 
that's  being  a  Piagnone,  Tve  been  taking  j)t'as  for  j»aternos- 
ters.  Why,  Fra  Girolamo  said  as  good  as  that  widows  ought 
not  to  marry  again.  Step  in  at  the  door  and  it's  a  sin  and 
a  shame,  it  seems  ;  but  come  down  the  chimney  and  you're 
Avelcome.      Tiro  children — Santiddio  !" 

"  Cousin,  the  poor  thing  has  done  no  conscious  wrong  :  she 
is  ignorant  of  every  thing.     I  will  tell  you — but  not  now." 

Early  the  next  morning  Komola's  stejjs  were  directed  to 
the  house  beyond  San  Ambrogio  where  she  had  once  found 
Tessa;  but  it  was  as  she  ha<l  feared:  Tessa  Avas  gone.  Ko- 
mola  conjectured  that  Tito  had  sent  her  away  Ijcforehand 
to  some  spot  where  he  had  intended  to  join  her,  for  she  did 
not  believe  that  he  would  willingly  part  with  those  children. 
It  was  a  j)ainful  conjecture,  because  if  Tessa  were  out  of 
Florence,  thei-e  was  hardly  a  chance  of  finding  her,  and  Ko- 
mola  pictured  the  childish  creature  waiting  and  waiting  at 
some  way-side  spot  in  wondering  helpless  misery.  Those 
wlio  lived  near  could  tell  her  nothing  exce])t  that  old  deaf 
Lisa  had  gone  away  a  week  ago  Avitli  her  goods,  but  no  one 
knew  where  Tessa  had  gone.  Homola  saw  no  further  active 
search  open  to  her;  for  she  had  no  knowledge  that  could 
serve  as  a  starting-jjoint  for  in(iuiry,  and  not  only  her  in- 
nate reserve  but  a  more  noble  sensitiveness  made  her  shrink 
from  assuming  an  attitude  of  generosity  in  the  eyes  of  others 
by  publishing  Tessa's  relation  to  Tito  along  with  her  own 
desire  to  find  her.  INIany  days  ])assed  in  anxious  inaction. 
Even  under  strong  solicitation  from  other  thoughts  liomola 
found  lier  heart  palpitating  if  slie  eauglit  sight  of  a  paii'  of 
round  brown  legs,  or  of  a  short  woman  in  the  contadina 
dress. 

She  never  for  a  moment  told  herself  that  it  was  heroism 

y-     or  exalted  charitv  in  her  to  seek  these   beinirs  ;  she   needed 

'   j  somethmg  that  she  was  bound  especially  to  care  for;    she 

I  yearned  to  clasp  the  children  and   to  make   them   love  her. 

This  at  least  would  l)e  sonx'  sweet  ri'sult,for  olhei-s  as  well 

as  herself,  from  all  hei-  i)ast  sorrow.     It  ajjpeared  there  was 


ROMOLA.  503 

much  property  of  Tito's  to  which  she  had  a  claim;  but  she 
distrusted  the  cleanness  of  that  money,  and  she  had  deter- 
mined to  make  it  all  over  to  the  State,  except  so  much  as 
was  equal  to  the  price  of  her  father's  library.  This  would 
be  enough  for  the  modest  support  of  Tessa  and  the  children. 
But  Monna  Brigida  threw  such  planning  into  the  background 
by  clamorously  insisting  that  Koniola  must  live  with  her  and 
never  forsake  her  till  she  had  seen  her  safe  in  paradise— else 
why  had  she  persuaded  her  to  turn  Piagnone  ?  and  if  Ronio- 
la  wanted  to  rear  other  people's  children,  she,  Monna  Brigida, 
must  rear  them  too.     Only  they  must  be  found  first. 

Romola  felt  the  full  force  of  that  innuendo.  But  strong 
feeling  unsatisfied  is  never  Avithout  its  superstition,  either  of 
hope  or  despair,  Komola's  was  the  superstition  of  hope : 
soniehoio  she  was  to  find  that  mother  and  the  children.  And 
at  last  another  direction  for  active  inquiry  suggested  itself. 
She  learned  that  Tito  had  provided  horses  and  mules  to 
await  him  in  San  Gallo ;  he  was  therefore  going  to  leave 
Florence  by  the  gate  of  San  Gallo,  and  she  determined, 
though  without  much  confidence  in  the  issue,  to  try  and  as- 
certain from  the  gate-keepers  if  they  had  observed  any  one 
corresponding  to  the  description  of  Tessa,  with  her  children, 
to  have  passed  the  gates  oefore  the  morning  of  the  ninth  of 
April.  Walking  along  the  Via  San  Gallo,  and  looking  Avatcli- 
fully  about  her  through  her  long  widow's  veil,  lest  she  slioul  1 
miss  any  object  that  might  aid  her,  she  descried  Bratti  chaf- 
fering with  a  customer.  That  roaming  man,  she  tliuught, 
might  aid  her :  she  would  not  mind  talking  of  Tessa  to  hiin. 
But  as  she  put  aside  her  veil  and  crossed  the  street  towards 
him,  she  saw  something  hanging  from  the  corner  of  his  bas- 
ket which  made  her  heart  leap  with  a  much  stronger  hope. 

"  Bratti,  my  friend,"  she  said,  abruptly,  "  where  did  you 
get  that  necklace  ?" 

"  Your  servant,  madonnn,"  said  Bratti,  looking  round  at 
her  very  deliberately,  his  mind  not  being  subject  to  surprise, 
"It's  a  necklace  worth  money,  but  I  shall  get  little  by  it,  for 
my  heart's  too  tender  for  a  trader's  ;  I  have  promised  to 
kee])  it  in  pledge." 

"Pray  tgll  me  where  you  got  it:  from  a  little  woman 
named  Tessa,  is  it  not  true  ?" 

"Ah  !  if  you  know  her,"  said  Bratti,"  and  would  redeem. 
it  of  me  at  a  small  profit,  and  give  it  her  again,  you'd  be  do- 
ing a  charity,  for  she  cried  at  parting  Avith  it — you'd  have 
thought  she  was  running  into  a  brook.  It's  a  small  profit  I'll 
charge  you.  You  shall  have  it  for  a  florin,  for  I  don't  like  to 
be  hard-hearted." 


604  BOMOLA. 

"  WhiTo  is  she?"  s:ii<l  lioTiiola,  ^ivint:: Iiiin  ^^'f  nioiicv,  and 
uiu'las|iiiii;  tho  necklace  from  tlie  baski-l  in  Joyl'ul  agitation. 

"  Outside  the  gate  tliere,  at  tlie  otlier  end  of  the  Jiorgo, at 
oUl  Sil)ina  3Ianetti''s.  Any  body  will  tell  you  which  is  the 
lionse." 

Koniola  went  along  with  winged  fect,l)lessing  that  incident 
of  the  Carnival  which  had  made  lier  learn  by  heart  the  aj)i)ear- 
ance  of  this  necklace.  Soon  she  was  at  the  house  she  scjught. 
The  young  Momaii  and  the  children  were  in  the  inner  room — 
were  to  have  been  fetched  away  a  fortnight  ago  and  more — 
liad  no  money,  only  their  ekitlies,  to  pay  a  poor  widow  with 
for  their  food  and  lodging.  Dut  since  madomia  knew  them 
—  Komola  waited  to  hear  no  more,  but  opened  the  door. 

Tessa  was  seated  on  the  low  bed.  Her  crying  liad  passed 
into  tearless  sobs,  and  she  was  looking  with  sad  blank  eyes  at 
the  two  children,  who  were  playing  in  an  opposite  corner — 
Lillo  covering  his  head  with  his  skirt,  and  roaring  at  Kinna 
to  frighten  her,  then  ])eeping  out  again  to  see  how  she  bore 
it.  The  door  was  a  little  ))eliind  Tessa,  and  she  did  not  turn 
round  when  it  opened,  thinking  it  was  oidy  the  old  woman  : 
expectation  was  no  longer  alive.  IJomola  had  thrown  aside 
her  veil  and  paused  a  moment,  holding  the  necklace  in  sight. 
Then  she  said,  in  that  pure  voice  that  used  to  cheer  her  iathcr: 

"  Tessa !" 

Tessa  started  to  her  feet  and  looked  round. 

"See,"  said  Komola, clasping  the  beads  on  Tessa's  neck, 
"God  Jias  sent  me  to  you  again." 

The  poor  thing  screamed  and  sobbed,  and  clung  to  the  arms 
that  fastened  the  necklace.  She  could  not  s])eak.  Tlie  two 
cliildren  came  IVom  their  corner,  laid  hold  of  their  mother's 
skirts,  and  looked  uj)  with  wide  eyes  at  Komola. 

That  day  they  all  went  home  to  jNIonna  ]>rigida's  in  the 
Borgo  degli  iVlbizzi.  Komola  had  made  known  to  Tessa  by 
gentle  degrees  that  Naldo  could  never  come  to  her  again; 
not  because  he  was  cruel,  but  becansc  he  was  dead. 

"  But  be  comforte<l,  my  Tessa,"  said  Komola.  "  I  am  come 
to  take  care  of  you  always.  And  we  have  got  Lillo  and 
Ninna. 

iVIonna  Krigida's  month  twitclied  in  the  struggle  between 
lier  awe  of  Komola  and  the  desire  to  s|teak  unseasonably. 

"  Let  be  for  the  present,"  she  thought;  "but  it  seems  to 
me  a  thousand  years  till  I  tell  this  little  contadina,  who  seems 
not  to  know  how  many  lingers  slie's  got  on  her  hand,  who 
K<;mola  is.  And  I  iril'l  tell  her  some  day,  else  she'll  never 
know  her  place.  It's  all  vury  well  for  Komola  ;  nobody  will 
call  their  souls  their  own  when  she's  by:  but  if  I'm  to  have 


BOMOLA.  505 


this  puss-faced  minx  living  in  my  house  she  must  be  humble 


to  me." 


However,  Monna  Brigida  wanted  to  give  the  children  too 
manv  sweets  for  their  supper,  and  confessed  to  Komola,  the 
last  Ihing  before  going  to  bed,  that  it  would  be  a  shame  not 
to  take  care  of  such  cherubs. 

"  But  you  must  give  up  to  me  a  little,  Romola,  about  their 
eating  aiid  those  things.  For  you  have  never  had  a  baby, 
and  I  had  twins,  only  they  died  as  soon  as  they  were  born." 


CHAPTER  LXXI. 

THE    CONFESSION. 

When  Romola  brought  home  Tessa  and  the  children  April 
was  already  near  its  close,  and  the  other  great  anxiety  on  lier 
mind  had  been  wrought  to  its  highest  pitch  by  the  publica- 
tion in  print  of  Fra  Girolamo's  Trial,  or  rather  of  the  confes- 
sions drawn  from  him  by  the  sixteen  Florentine  citizens  com- 
missioned to  interrogate  liim.  The  appearance  of  tliis  docu- 
ment, issued  by  order  of  the  Signoria,  had  called  forth  such 
strong  expressions  of  public  suspicion  and  discontent  that  se- 
vere measures  were  immediately  taken  for  recalling  it.  Of 
course  there  were  copies  accidentally  mislaid,  and  a  second 
edition  not  by  order  of  the  Signoria,  was  soon  in  the  hands 
of  eager  readers. 

Romola,  who  began  to  despair  of  ever  speaking  with  Fra 
Girolamo,  read  this  evidence  again  and  again,  desiring  to  judge 
it  by  3ome  clearer  light  than  the  contradictory  impressions 
tlu'^  were  taking  the  form  of  assertions  in  the  mouths  of  both 
p'.rtisans  and  enemies. 

In  the  more  devout  followers  of  Savonarola  his  want  of  con- 
stancy under  torture,  and  his  retractation  of  prophetic  claims, 
had  produced  a  consternation  too  profound  to  be  at  once  dis- 
placed as  it  ultimately  was  by  the  suspicion,  which  soon  grew 
into  a  positive  datum,  that  any  reported  words  of  his  which 
were  in  inojcplicable  contradiction  to  their  faith  in  him,  had  not 
come  from  the  lips  of  the  propliet,  but  from  the  falsifying  pen 
of  Ser  Ceccone,  that  notary  of  evil  repute,  who  had  made  the 
digest  of  the  examination.  But  there  Averc  obvious  facts 
that  at  once  threw  discredit  on  the  printed  document.  Was 
not  the  list  of  sixteen  examiners  half  made  up  of  the  prophet's 
bitterest  enemies?  AVas  not  the  notorious»Dolfo  Spini  one 
of  the  new  Eight  prematurely  elected,  in  order  to  load  the 
dice  p^ainst  a  man  whose  ruin  had  been  determined  on  by 

22 


60(i  UUMOLA. 


tlic  party  in  power?  It  was  i»iit  aTTmnlcr  wilh  slow  r()rrnal- 
itic's  that  was  bt'inu^  transacted  in  the  Old  Palace.  Tlie  Siir- 
noria  had  ri's«)lved  to  drive  n  ;4<m)(1  bari^ain  with  the  Pope  and 
the  duke  of.Mihiu,  by  e.\till^lli^^hin^  the  iiiuii  who  was  as  great 
a  molestation  to  vicious  citizens  and  tjreedy  l'orei<;n  tynintii 
as  to  a  corrupt  clergy.  The  Frate  had  been  doomed  bel'orc- 
hand,  and  the  only  ([uestion  that  was  j)reteiuled  to  exist  now 
was,  whether  the  Ke])ublic,  in  return  for  a  ))erniissi«;n  to 
Jay  a  tax  on  ecclesiastical  property,  should  deliver  him  alive 
inlo  the  hands  of  the  P<ii»e,  m-  whether  the  P«ipe  should  fur- 
ther concede  to  the  Ke])ultUc  what  its  dignity  demanded — the 
privilege  of  hanging  and  burning  its  own  prophet  ou  its  own 
piazza. 

Who,  under  sucli  circumstances,  Avould  give  full  credit  to 
tliis  so-calleil  confession 'r*  If  tlie  Frate  had  denied  liis  pro- 
}>hetic  gift,tlic  denial  bad  only  been  wrcnclied  from  liini  by 
the  agony  of  torture — agoiiy  tliat,  in  his  sensitive  frame,  must, 
'piickly  produce  raving.  What  if  these  wicked  examinei>  de- 
clared that  he  bad  only  had  the  torture  of  the  rojje  and  pul- 
ley thrice,  and  only  on  one  day,  and  that  Ids  confessions 
liad  been  made  when  he  was  under  no  Ixnlily  coercion — Mas 
that  to  be  believed  V  lie  ha*l  been  tortured  ?nuch  ntore ;  lio 
liad  been  tortured  in  proportion  to  the  distress  Ids  confessions 
had  createil  in  tlie  liearts  of  those  who  loved  liim. 

Other  friends  of  Savonarola,  wlio  were  less  ardent  ]nirtisans, 
did  not  doubt  tlie  substantial  geuuineness  of  tlie  confession, 
however  it  might  have  been  colored  by  the  transpositions  and 
additioi>s  of  liie  notary;  but  they  argued  indiguanlly  that 
there  was  nothing  which  could  warrant  a  condemnation  to 
death,  or  even  to  grave  punishment.  It  must  l>e  clear  to  all 
impartiainien  that  if  this  examination  representi-d  the  only 
evi'ience  against  the  Frate,  he  would  die,  m>t  ior  any  crime, 
but  because  he  had  made  himself  inconvenient  to  the  Pojie, 
to  the  rapacious  Italian  States  that  wanted  t(»  dismember  their 
Tuscan  ni'ii^hbor,  and  to  those  miworthy  citiz»'iis  who  sought 
to  i^ratify  their  private  ambition  in  opposition  tti  the  common 
weal. 

Not  a  shadow  of  y)olitical  crime  had  been  jiroved  against 
him.  Not  one  stain  had  bi-cn  detected  on  his  ])rivate  con- 
duct :  his  fellow-monks,  including  one  who  had  formerly  been 
h]fi  secretary  for  several  years,  and  who,  with  more  than  ih' 
avera^re  culture  of  his  crnnjianions,  had  a  disposition  to  criti- 
cise Fra  (iirolamo's  rule  as  Prioi,  bore  testimony,  even  after 
tlie  shock  of  his  j-etractatiou,  to  an  unimpeachable  purity  and 
consistency  in  his  life,  which  had  coinmandiMl  (heir  >msus- 
pecting  veneration.     The  l*ope  himself  had  not  been  ab'e  to 


KOMOLA,  ,  507 

raise  a  charge  of  liei'esy  against  the  Frate,  except  on  the 
ground  of  disobedience  to  a  mandate,  and  disregard  of  the 
sentence  of  excominnnication.  It  was  difficult  to  justify  that 
breach  of  discipline  by  argument,  but  there  Avas  a  moral  in- 
surgence  in  the  minds  of  grave  men  against  the  Court  of 
Rome,  which  tended  to  confound  the  theoretic  distinction  be- 
tween the  Church  and  churchmen,  and  to  lighten  the  scandal 
of  disobedience. 

Men  of  ordinary  morality  and  public  spirit  felt  the  trt 
umph  of  the  Frate's  enemies  was  really  the  triumph  of  gross 
license.  And  keen  Florentines  like  Soderini  and  Piero 
Guicciardini,  may  well  have  had  an  angry  smile  on  their 
lips  at  a  severity  which  dispensed  with  all  law  and  order  to 
hang  and  burn  a  man  in  whom  the  seductions  of  a  public  ca- 
reer had  warped  the  strictness  of  his  veracity ;  may  well  have 
remarked  that  if  the  Frate  had  mixed  a  much  deeper  fraud 
-with  a  zeal  and  ability  less  incouA'cnient  to  high  personages, 
the  fraud  would  have  been  regarded  as  an  excellent  oil  for 
ecclesiastical  and  political  wheels. 

Nevertheless  such  shrewd  men  were  forced  to  admit  that, 
Iiowever  poor  a  figure  the  Florentine  government  made  in  its 
clumsy  pretense  of  a  judicial  warrant  for  what  had  in  fact 
been  pre-determined  as  an  act  of  policy,  the  measures  of  the 
Pope  against  Savonarola  were  necessary  measures  of  self-de- 
fense. Not  to  try  and  rid  himself  of  a  man  Avho  wanted  to 
stir  up  the  PoAvers  of  Europe  to  summon  a  General  Council 
and  depose  him,  would  have  been  adding  ineptitude  to  iniqui- 
ty. There  was  no  denying  that  towards  Alexander  the  Sixth 
Savonarola  was  a  rebel,  and,  what  was  much  more,  a  danger- 
ous rebel.  Florence  had  heard  him  say,  and  had  well  under- 
stood what  he  meant,  that  he  would  not  obey  the  devil.  It 
was  inevitably  a  life  and  death  struggle  between  the  Frate 
and  the  Pope  ;  but  it  was  less  inevitabte  that  Florence  should 
make  itself  the  Pope's  executioner. 

Komola's  ears  were  filled  in  this  way  with  the  suggestions 
of  a  faith  still  ardent  under  its  wounds,  and  the  suggestions 
of  worldly  discernment,  judging  things  according  t'cTa  very 
moderate  standard  of  what  is  possible  to  human  nature.  She 
could  be  satisfied  with  neither.  She  brought  to  her  long 
meditations  over  that  printed  document  many  painful  ob- 
servations, registered  more  or  less  consciously  through  the 
years  of  her  discipleship,  which  whispered  a  presentiment  that 
Savonarola's  retractation  of  his  prophetic  claims  was  not  mere- 
ly a  spasmodic  effort  to  escape  from  torture.  But,  on  the 
other  hand,  her  soul  cried  out  for  some  explanation  of  his 
lapses  Avhich  would  make  it  still  possible  for  her  to  believe 


508  .  KOMOLA. 

tli;it  the  main  striving  of  liis  lift'  liad  been  pure  and  gi'aiul.  The 
recent  memory  of  the  selfish  discontent  whicli  had  come  over 
her  like  a  Idinhting  wind  along  with  the  loss  of  her  trust  in 
the  man  who  had  been  for  her  an  incariuitiou  of  the  liighest 
motives,  had  jtrciduced  a  reaction  which  is  known  to  many  as 
a  sort  of  faith  that  has  sprung  up  to  them  out  of  the  very 
de])ths  of  their  despair.  It  was  im])ossible,  she  said  now, 
that  the  negative  disbelieving  thoughts  which  had  made  her 
soul  arid  of  all  good  could  be  founded  in  the  truth  of  things: 
impossible  that  it  liad  not  l)een  a  living  sj)irit,  and  no  hollow 
jiretense,  which  had  once  breathed  in  tlie  Frate's  words,  and 
kindled  a  new  life  in  her.  Whatever  falsehood  there  had 
been  in  iiim  had  been  a  fall  and  not  a  purpose  ;  a  gradual  en- 
tanirlenu'iit  in  which  ho  struggled,  not  a  contrivance  encour- 
aged  by  success. 

Looking  at  the  printed  confessions,  she  saw  many  sentences 
Avhich  bore  the  stamp  of  bungling  fabrication  :  they  had  that 
emphasis  and  repetition  in  self-accusation  which  none  but 
very  low  hypocrites  use  to  their  fellow-men.  J>ut  the  fact 
that  these  sentences  Vveic  in  striking  o])position,  not  onl)'^  to 
the  character  of  Savonarola,  but  also  to  the  general  tone  of 
the  confessions,  strengthened  the  ini])ression  that  the  rest  of 
the  text  rejjresented  in  the  main  what  had  really  fallen  from 
Ins  lips.  Hardly  a  word  was  dishonorable  to  him  except 
what  turned  on  his  pro])hetic  annunciations.  He  was  unvary- 
ing in  his  statcnienl  of  the  ends  he  had  i)ursned  for  Florence, 
tlie  Church,  and  the  world  ;  and,  apart  front  tlu-  mixture  of 
falsity  in  that  claim  of  special  ins])iratioti  by  which  he  sought 
to  gain  liold  of  men's  minds,  there  was  no  admission  oi"  hav- 
ing used  unworthy  means.  Even  in  this  confession,  and 
without  expurgation  of  the  notary's  malign  phrases,  Fra  Gi- 
rolanio  shone  forth  as  a  man  who  had  sought  his  own  glory 
indeed,  but  sought  it  by  laboring  Ibr  the  very  highest  end — 
tlie  moral  welfare  of  men — not  by  vague  exhortations,  but  by 
striving  to  turn  beliefs  into  energies  that  would  work  in  all 
the  details  of  life. 

"Every  thing  that  I  have  done,"  said  one  memorable  pas- 
sage, which  n\ay  perhaps  have  had  its  ei'asures  and  interpola- 
tions, "  I  have  done  with  the  design  of  Ix-ing  forever  famous 
in  the  pri-sent  and  future  ages;  and  that  I  might  win  credit 
in  Florence ;  and  that  notliing  of  great  import  should  be 
done  without  my  sanction.  And  when  I  had  thus  established 
my  position  in  Florence,  I  liad  it  in  my  mind  to  do  great 
tilings  in  Italy  and  bcyon<l  Italy,  by  means  of  those  chief  per- 
sonages with' whom  I  had  contracted  friendship  and  consult- 
ed on  hiirh  matters,  such  as  this  of  the  (Jeneral  Council.     And 


ROMOLA.  509 

in  proportion  as  my  first  efforts  succeeded  I  should  linve 
adopted  furtiier  measures.  Above  all,  Avhen  the  Genei'al 
Council  had  once  been  brought  about,  I  intended  to  rouse  the 
princes  of  Christendom,  and  especially  those  beyond  the  bor- 
ders of  Italy,  to  subdue  the  infidels.  It  was  not  much  in  my 
thoughts  to  get  myself  made  a  Cardinal  or  Pope  ;  for  when  I 
should  have  achieved  the  work  I  had  in  vicAV,  I  should,  with- 
out being  Pope,  have  been  the  first  man  in  the  world  in  the 
authority  I  should  have  jjossessed,  and  the  reverence  that 
Avould  have  been  paid  me.  If  I  had  been  made  Pope,  I  would 
not  have  refused  the  office  :  but  it  seemed  to  me  that  to  be 
the  head  of  that  work  was  a  greater  thing  than  to  be  Pope, 
because  a  man  Avithout  virtue  may  be  Pope ;  hut  such  a 
work  as  I  contemplated  deinanded  a  man  of  excellent  virtttes.'" 

That  blending  of  ambition  Avith  belief  in  the  supremacy  of 
goodness  made  no  new  tone  to  Komola,  Avho  had  been  u,>^ed 
to  hear  it  in  the  voice  that  rang  tlirough  the  Duomo.  It  Avas 
the  habit  of  Savonarola's  mind  to  conceive  great  things,  and 
to  feel  that  he  was  the  man  to  do  them.  Iniquity  should  be 
brought  loAV  ;  the  cause  of  justice,  purity,  and  love  should 
triumph  ;  and  it  should  triumph  by  his  voice,  by  his  Avork,  by 
his  blood.  In  moments  of  ecstatic  contemplation,  doubtless, 
the  sense  of  self  melted  in  the  sense  of  the  unspeakable,  and 
in  that  part  of  his  experience  lay  the  elements  of  genuine  self- 
abasement;  but  in  the  presence  of  his  fellow-men  for  whom 
lie  Avas  to  act,  pre-eminence  seemed  a  necessary  condition  of 
his  life. 

And  perha<{3s  this  confession,  CA'cn  when  it  described  a 
doubleness  that  was  conscious  and  deliberate,  really  implied 
no  more  than  that  AvaA'ering  of  belief  concerning  his  own  im- 
pressions and  motives  which  most  human  beings  Avho  have 
not  a  stupid  inflexibility  of  self-confidence  must  be  liable  to 
under  a  marked  change  of  external  conditions.  In  a  life 
Avhere  the  experience  Avas  so  tumultuously  mixed  as  it  must 
have  been  in  the  Prate's,  Avhat  a  possibility  Avas  opened  for 
a  change  of  self-judgment,  Avhen,  instead  of  eyes  that  A'en- 
erated  and  knees  that  knelt,  instead  of  a  great  Avork  on  its 
way  to  accomplishment,  and  in  its  prosperity  stamping  the 
agent  as  a  chosen  instrument,  there  came  the  hooting,  and 
the  spitting,  and  the  curses  of  the  crowd ;  and  then  the 
hard  faces  of  enemies  made  judges;  and  then  the  horrible 
torture,  and  Avith  the  torture  the  irrepressible  cry,  "  It  is  true, 
what  you  Avould  haA^e  me  say  :  let  me  go:  do  not  torture  me 
again  :  yes,  yes,  I  am  guilty.     Thy  stroke  has  reached  me  !" 

As  Romola  thought  of  the  anguish  that  must  have  follow- 
ed the  confession — Avhether,  in  the  subsequent  solitude   of 


610  UOMOLA. 

tlu  i)ri«or),  conscience  retracted  or  confirmed  the  self-taxing 
wonls — that  an<,niisli  seemed  to  be  pressinj;  on  her  own  lieart 
;uid  uiuMnLT  the  sh)\v,  l)itter  te:u"s.  Every  vulirar,  sell-iLTnorant 
person  in  hMorenee  was  i^lihly  pronouncing  on  this  man's  de- 
merits, and  he  was  knowing  a  depth  of  sorrow  wiiich  can 
only  be  known  to  the  soul  that  has  loved  and  sou<;ht  the 
most  ))errect  thing,  and  beholds  itself  falk-n. 

She  had  not  then  seen — what  she  saw  afterwards — the  evi- 
dence of  the  Frate's  mental  state  after  he  had  thus  to  lay  his 
mouth  ill  the  dust.  As  the  days  went  by,  the  reports  of'new 
unpul)lislied  examinations,  eliciting  no  change  of  confessions, 
cwised  ;  Savonarola  was  left  alone  in  his  ))rison  and  allowed 
pen  and  ink  for  a  while,  that,  if  he  liked,  he  might  use  his 
poor  bruised  and  strained  right  arm  to  write  with,  lie 
wrote;  but  what  he  wrote  was  no  vindication  of  his  inno- 
cence, no  protest  against  the  proceedings  used  towards  him: 
it  "was  a  continued  collo(|uy  with  that  <li\  ine  puritv  with 
Avhich  he  sought  coinj)lele  reunion  ;  it  was  tlu'  <)Utp(»uring  of 
Bclf-abasement ;  it  was  one  long  cry  for  inward  renovation. 
No  lingering  echoes  of  the  old  vehement  self-assertion,  "  J^ook 
at  my  work,  for  it  is  good,  and  those  who  set  their  faces 
against  it  are  the  chihlren  of  the  devil !"  The  voice  of  Sad- 
ness tells  him,  "  God  placed  thee  in  the  midst  of  the  people 
even  as  if  thou  hadst  been  one  of  the  excellent.  In  this  way 
thou  hast  tauglit  others,  and  hast  lailed  to  learn  thyself. 
Thou  hast  cured  others  :  and  thou  thyself  hast  been  still  dis- 
eased. Thy  heart  was  lifted  uj)  at  the  beauty  of  thy  own 
deeds,  and  through  this  thou  hast  lost   thy  wiVdom  and  art 

become,  and  shalt  be  to  all  eternity,  nothing AtU-rso  many 

benefits  with  which  (iod  has  honored  thee,  thou  art  fallen 
into  the  deptlis  of  the  sea  ;  and  after  so  manv  gifts  liestowed 
on  thee,  thou,  by  thy  ))ride  and  vain-glory,  hast  scandalized 
all  the  world.''  And  when  Hope  speaks  and  argues  that  the 
divine  love  has  not  forsaken  him,  it  says  noihing  now  of  a 
great  work  to  be  done,  but  only  says,  "Thou  art  not  forsak- 
en, else  why  is  thy  heart  bowed*  in  penitence  '?     That  too  is  a 

.  There  is  no  jot  of  worthy  evidence  that  from  the  time  of 
his  imprisonment  to  the  supreme  moment  Savonaiohi  thought 
or  spoke  of  himself  as  a  mart  y r.  The  idea  of  martyrdom  Jiad 
been  to  him  a  ])assioii  dividing  the  dream  of  the  future  with 
the  triumph  of'  beholding  his  work  achieved.  And  now,  in 
place  of  both,  had  come  resignation  which  he  caUed  by  no 
glorifying  name. 

Jiut  tliereibre  he  may  the  more  fitly  be  called  a  martyr  by 
his  fellow-men  to  all  time.     For  ])ower  rose  against  him  not 


ROMOLA.  511 

because  of  his  sins,  but  because  of  his  greatness— not  because 
he  sought  to  deceive  the  \voi-k],  but  because  he  sought  to 
inake  ifnoble.  And  through  tliat  greatness  of  his  he  endured 
:i  double  agony:  not  only  the  reviling,  and  the  torture,  and 
the  death-throe,  but  the  agony  of  sinking  from  the  vision  of 
glorious  achievement  into  that  deep  shado\v  where  he  could 
only  say,  "  I  count  as  nothing :  darkness  encompasses  me : 
yet  the  light  I  saw  ^vas  the  true  light/' 


CHAPTER  LXXIL 

THE    LAST    SILENCE, 

KOMOLA  had  seemed  to  hear,  nz  if  they  had  been  a  cry,  the 
words  repeated  to  her  by  many  lips — the  words  uttered  by 
Savonarola  when  he  took  k^ave  of  those  brethren  of  San  Mar- 
co who  liad  come  to  witness  his  signature  of  the  contbssion : 
"  Pray  fur  me,  tor  God  has  withdrawn  from  me  the  spirit  of 
prophecy," 

Those  words  had  shaken  her  with  new  doubts  ns  to  the 
mode  in  Avhioh  he  looked  back  at  the  past  in  moments  of 
complete  self-])ossession.  And  the  doubts  were  strengthened 
by  more  piteous  things  stiil,  which  soon  reached  her  eai-s. 

The  niiieteenth  of^May  had  come,  and  by  that  day's  sun- 
shine there  had  entered  into  Florence  the  two  Papal  commis- 
saries, charged  with  the  completion  of  vSavonarola's  trial. 
They  entered  amidst  the  acclamations  of  the  people,  calling 
for  the  death  of  the  Frate.  For  now  the  popular  cry  was, 
*'  It  is  the  Prate's  deception  that  has  brought  on  all  our  misr 
fortunes  ;  let  him  be  burned,  and  all  things  right  will  be  done, 
and  our  evils  Avill  cease." 

The  next  day  it  is  well  certified  that  there  was  fresh  and 
fresh  torture  of  the  shattered,  sensitive  frame ;  and  now,  at 
the  first  threat  and  first  sight  of  the  horrible  implements,  Sa- 
vonarola, in  convulsed  agitation,  fell  on  his  knees,  and  in  brief, 
passionate  words,  retracted  his  confession,  declared  that  he  had 
spoken  falsely  in  denying  his  prophetic  gift,  and  that  if  he 
suftered  he  would  suffer  for  the  truth — "  The  things  that  I 
have  spoken  I  had  them  from  God." 

But  not  the  less  the  torture  was  laid  upon  him,  and  when 
he  was  under  it  he  was  asked  why  he  had  uttered  those  re- 
tracting t^'ords.  Men  were  not  demons  in  those  days,  and 
yet  nothing  but  confessions  of  guilt  were  held  a  reason  for 
release  from  torture.  The  answer  came:  "I  said  it  that  I 
might  seem  good  ;  tear  me  no  mor*:',  I  will  tell  you  the  truth." 


512  KOMOLA. 

Tlieiv  wc'iv  Florentine  assessoi-sat  this  new  trial,  ;nnl  tlioSy 
■words  of  twofold  retractation  liad  soon  spread.  They  lilltd 
Koniola  with  <lisniayed  nneertainty. 

"Jiiit" — it  llaslied  across  her— "  there  -will  come  a  mo- 
ment  uhen  he  may  s]»eak.  When  there  is  no  dread  ]ianain<,' 
oyer  him  but  the  dread  of  falsehood,  when  they  have  brou<;h"t 
him  into  the  jtresence  of  death,  Avhen  he  is  lifted  above  the 
l)eoj)le,  and  looks  on  them  for  the  last  time,  they  can  not 
hinder  him  from  speaking  a  last  decisive  word.  I  will  bo 
there." 

Three  days  after,  on  tlie  23d  of  :\Iay,  1 408,  there  -was  atrain  a 
long  narrow  platform  stretching  across  the  great  piazza,  from 
tlic  Palazzo  Vccchio  towards  the  Tetta  de'  Tisani.  ]>ut  there 
■was  no  grove  of  fuel  as  before  :  instead  of  that,  there  was  oii'j 
great  lieap  of  fuel  ])laced  on  the  circular  ai-ea  ■which  made 
tlie  termination  of  the  long  narrow  i>latform.  And  above  this 
lieaj)  of  fuel  rose  a  gibbet  with  three  halters  on  it — a  gibbet 
Avhich,  having  two  arms,  still  looked  so  much  like  a  cross  as 
to  make  some  beholders  uncomfortable,  though  one  arm  had 
been  truncated  to  avoid  the  resemblance. 

On  the  marbk'  terrace  of  the  l*alazzo  were  three  ti  '.bunals  : 
one  near  the  door  ibr  the  l>isho]>,  who  was  to  ])er(brm  the 
ceremony  of  degradation  of  Fra  (iirolamoand  the  two  brethren 
who  were  to  suffer  as  his  followers  and  accomplices  ;  another 
for  the  Pa])al  Commissaries,  who  were  to  ])ronounce  them 
heretics  and  schismatics,  and  deliver  them  over  to  the  secular 
arm  ;  and  a  third,  close  to  Marzocco,  at  the  cornei*  of  the  ter- 
race where  the  jilatform  began,  for  the  (ionfaloniere,  and  the 
Eight  who  were  to  pi-onounce  the  sentence  of  death. 

Again  the  piazza  was  thronged  Avith  expectant  fiiccs : 
again  there  was  to  be  a  great  liie  kindled.  In  the  majority 
of  the  crowd  that  ]>ressed  around  the  gibbet  the  expectation 
was  that  of  ferocious  hati-ed,  or  of  mere  hard  curiosity  to  be- 
hold a  l)arbarous  sight.  ]3ut  there  were  still  many  specta- 
tors on  the  wide  ])avement,  on  the  roofs,  and  at  the  windows, 
who,  in  the  midst  of  their  bitter  giief  and  their  own  endur- 
ance of  insult  as  liypocritical  Piagnoni,  were  not  without  a 
lingering  hope,  even  at  this  eleventh  liour,  that  God  would 
interpose,  by  some  sign,  to  manifest  their  ])eloved  proi>het  as 
Ills  servant.  And  there  were  yet  more  who  looked  forward 
•with  trembling  eagerness,  as  Komola  did,  to  that  final  mo- 
ment when  Savonarola  inight  say,  "Oh  people,  I  was  inno- 
cent of  deceit." 

Komola  was  at  a  window  on  the  north  side  of  the  ])iazza, 
far  away  from  the  marble  terrace  where  the  tribunals  stood; 
and  near  liei-,  also  looking  on  in  jtainful  doubt  concerning  the 


EOMOLA.  513 

man  avIio  had  won  Ids  early  reverence,  was  a.  young  Floren- 
tine of  two-and-twenty,  named  Jacopo  Xardi,  afterwards  to 
deserve  honor  as  one  of  tlie  very  few  who,  feeling  Fra  Giro- 
lamo's  emhieuce,  have  written  about  him  with  tlie  simple  de- 
sire to  be  veracious.  He  had  said  to  Romola,  Avitli.  respect- 
ful gentleness,  when  he  saw  the  struggle  in  her  between 
her  shuddering  horror  of  the  scene  and  her  yearning  to  wit- 
ness what  might  happen  in  the  last  moment, 

"  Madonna,  there  is  no  need  for  you  to  look  at  these  cruel 
things.  I  will  tell  you  when  he  comes  out  of  the  Palazzo. 
Trust  to  me ;  I  know  what  you  would  see." 

^Romola  covered  her  face,  but  the  hootings  that  seemed  to 
maTce  the  hideous  scene  still  visible  could  not  be  shut  out. 
At  last  her  arm  was  touched,  and  she  heard  the  words,  "  He 
comes."  She  looked  tow^ards  the  Palace,  and  could  see  Savo- 
narola led  out  in  his  Dominican  garb ;  could  see  him  stand- 
ing before  the  Bishop,  and  being  stripped  of  the  black  man- 
tle, the  white  scapulary  and  long  Avhite  tunic,  till  he  stood  in 
a  close  woollen  under-tunic,  that  told  of  no  sacred  office,  no 
rank.  He  had  been  degraded,  and  cut  ofi'  from  the  Church 
Militant. 

The  baser  part  of  the  multitude  delight  in  degradations, 
apart  from  any  hatred  ;  it  is  the  satire  they  best  understand. 
There  was  a  fresh  hoot  of  triumph  as  the  three  degraded 
brethren  passed  on  to  the  tribunal  of  the  Papal  Commissa- 
ries, who  Avere  to  pronounce  them  schismatics  and  heretics. 
Did  not  the  prophet  look  like  a  schismatic  and  heretic  now  ? 
It  is  easy  to  believe  in  the  damnable  state  of  a  man  who 
stands  stripped  and  degraded. 

Then  the  tliird  tribunal  was  passed — that  of  the  Floren- 
tine officials  who  were  to  ]u-onounce  sentence,  and  among 
whom,  even  at  her  distance,  Romola  couid  discern  the  odious 
figure  of  Dolfo  Spiui,  indued  in  the  grave  black  lucco,  as  one 
of  the  Eight. 

Then  the  three  figures,  in  their  close  white  raiment,  trod 
their  way  along  the  platform,  amidst  yells  and  grating  tones 
of  insult. 

"  Cover  your  eyes,  madonna,"  said  Jacopo  Xardi ;  "  Fra 
Girolamo  will  be  the  last." 

It  was  not  long  before  she  had  to  uncover  them  asxain. 
Savonarola  was  there.  He  was  not  far  off  her  now.  He  had 
mounted  the  steps ;  she  could  see  him  look  round  on  the  mul- 
titude. 

But  in  the  same  moment  expectation  died,  and  she  only 
saw  Avhat  he  was  seeing — torches  waving  to  kindle  the  fuel 
beneath  his  dead  body,  fiices  glaring  with  a  yet  worse  light  ^ 

22* 


514  ROMOLA. 

pile  only  licard  what  he  was  hearing— gross  jests,  taunts,  and 

curses. 

Tlie  inoincnt  was  ]iasl.  IK-r  foce  was  covered  again,  and 
Khe  only  knew  that  Savonarola's  voice  had  passed  into  eter- 
nal isilencc. 


EPILOGUE. 

On  the  evening  of  the  twenty-second  of  May,  1509,  five 
persons,  of  whose  history  we  have  known  something,  were  seat- 
ed in  a  handsotne  upper  rooju  ojieniug  on  to  a  loggia  which, 
at  its  right-hand  corner,  looked  all  along  the  Borgo  I'inti,  ar.d 
over  the  city  gate  towards  Fiesole,  and  the  soleuni  heights 

bevou-l  it. 

'At  one  end  of  the  room  Avas  an  arch-way  opening  into  a 
narrow  iinier  room,  hardly  more  than  a  recess,  where  the  light 
fell  from  above  on  a  small  altar  covered  with  fair  white  linen. 
Over  the  altar  was  a  picture,  discernihlc  at  tlie  distance  where 
the  little  party  sat  only  as  the  small  full-length  portrait  of  a 
Dominican  Brother.  For  it  was  shaded  from  the  light  above 
by  overhanging  branches  and  wreaths  of  flowers,  and  the  fresh 
tajK'rs  below  were  unlit.  But  it  seemed  that  the  decoration 
of  the  altar  and  its  recess  was  not  complete.  For  i)art  of  the 
floor  was  strewn  with  a  confusion  of  flowers  and  green  boughs, 
and  among  them  sat  a  delicate  blue-eyed  girl  of  thirteen,  toss- 
ing her  long  light-brown  hair  out  of  her  eyes,  as  she  made 
screctious  for  tiie  wreaths  she  was  weaving,  or  looked  up  at 
her  mother's  work  in  the  same  kind,  and  told  her  how  to  do 
it  with  a  little  air  of  instruction. 

For  that  nu)ther  was  not  very  clever  at  weaving  flowers 
or  at  anv  other  work.  Tessa's  fingers  had  not  become  more 
idroit  with  the  years — only  very  much  fatter.  She  got  on 
plowlv,  and  turned  her  head  about  a  good  deal,  and  asked 
Nimia's  opinion  with  much  deference  ;  for  Tessa  never  ceased 
to  be  astonished  at  the  wisdom  of  her  children.  She  still  wore 
her  contadina  gown:  it  was  only  broader  than  the  old  one; 
and  there  was  the  silver  i)in  in  "her  rough  curly  brown  hair, 
and  roun<l  her  neck  the  memorable  necklace,  with  a  red  cord 
under  it,  that  ended  mysteriously  in  her  bosom.  Her  rounded 
face  wore  even  a  more  jierfect  look  of  childish  C(jntent  than  in 
her  younger  days  :  every  body  was  so  good  in  the  world,  Tessa 
thou'ght  ;~cven  Monna  Brigida  never  found  fault  with  her  now, 
an<l  did  little  else  than  slee]',  which  was  an  amiable  practice  in 
every  bo<ly,  and  one  that  Tessa  liked  for  herself. 


ROM  OLA.  515 

Monna  Brigida  was  asleep  at  this  moment,  in  a  straight- 
backed  arm-chair,  a  couple  of  yards  off.  Her  hair,  parting 
backward  under  her  black  hood,  had  that  soft  whiteness  which 
is  not  like  snow  or  any  thing  else,  but  is  simply  the  lovely 
whiteness  of  aged  hair.  Her  chin  had  sunk  on  her  bosom,  and 
her  hands  rested  on  the  elbow  of  her  chair.  She  had  not  been 
weaving  flowers  or  doing  any  thing  else  :  she  had  only  been 
looking  on  as  usual,  and  as  usual  had  fallen  asleep. 

The  other  two  figures  were  seated  farther  off,  at  the  wide 
doorway  that  opened  on  to  the  loggia.  Lillo  sat  on  the  ground, 
with  his  back  against  the  angle  of  the  door-post,  and  his  long 
legs  stretched  out,  while  he  held  a  large  book  open  on  his  knee, 
and  occasionally  made  a  dash  with  his  hand  at  an  inquisitive 
fly,  with  an  air  of  interest  stronger  than  that  excited  by  the 
finely-printed  copy  of  Petrarch  which  he  kept  open  at  one 
place,  as  it  he  were  learning  something  by  heaVt. 

Romola  sat  nearly  opposite  Lillo,  but  she  was  not  observing 
him.  Her  hands  were  crossed  on  her  lap,  and  her  eyes  were 
fixed  absently  on  the  distant  mountains  :  she  was  evidently 
unconscious  of  any  thing  around  her.  An  eager  life  had  left 
its  mark  upon  her  :  the  finely-moulded  cheek  had  sunk  a  little  ; 
the  golden  crown  was  less  massive  ;  bi;t  there  was  a  placidity 
in  Romola's  face  which  had  never  belonijed  to  it  in  youth.  It 
IS  but  once  that  we  can  know  our  worst  sorrows,  and  Romola 
had  known  them  while  life  was  new. 

Absorbed  in  this  way,  she  was  not  at  first  aware  that  Lillo 
had  ceased  to  look  at  his  book,  and  was  watching  her  with  a 
slightly  impatient  air,  which  meant  that  he  wanted  to  talk  to 
her,  but  was  not  quite  sure  whethei"  she  would  like  that  enter- 
tainment just  now.  But  perservering  looks  make  themselves 
felt  at  last.  Romola  did  presently  turn  away  her  eyes  from 
the  distance  and  meet  Lillo's  impatient  dark  gaze  with  a  bright- 
er and  brighter  smile.  He  shuflled  along  the  floor,  still  keep- 
ing the  book  on  his  lap,  till  he  got  close  to  her  and  lodged  his 
chin  on  her  knee. 

"  What  is  it,  Lillo  ?"  said  Romola,  pulling  his  hair  back 
from  his  brow.  Lillo  was  a  handsome  lad,  but  his  features 
were  turning  out  to  be  more  massive  and  less  regular  than 
his  father's.  The  blood  of  the  Tuscan  peasant  was  in  his 
veins. 

"  Mamma  Romola,  what  am  I  to  be  ?"  he  said,  Avell  con- 
tented that  there  was  a  prospect  of  talking  till  it  would  be  too 
late  to  con  "  Spirito  gentil  "  any  longer. 

"  What  should  you  like  to  be,  Lillo  ?  You  raischt  be  a 
scholar.  My  father  w"as  a  scholar,  you  know,  and  taught  me 
a  great  deal.     That  is  the  reason  why  I  can  teach  you." 


01 C  KOMOLA. 

"  Ves,"  said  Lillo,  rather  licsitaliiigly.  "  But  lie  is  old  and 
blind  in  the  jiictuie.     Did  lie  t^et  a  great  deal  of  glory?" 

"  Not  much,  l^illo.  The  -world  was  not  always  very  kind 
to  him,  and  he  saw  meaner  men  than  himsclt  put  into  higher 
places  because  they  could  flatter  and  say  what  was  false.  And 
then  his  dear  son  thought  it  right  to  leave  him  and  l)fconu'  a 
monk  ;  and  after  that  my  father,  being  blind  and  lonely,  felt 
unable  to  do  the  things  that  would  have  made  his  learning  of 
greater  use  to  men,  so  that  he  might  still  have  lived  in  hi« 
works  after  he  was  in  his  grave." 

"  I  should  not  like  that  sort  of  life,"  said  Lillo.  "  I  should 
like  to  be  something  that  would  make  me  a  great  man,  and 
very  happy  besides — something  that  would  not  hinder  me  from 
having  a  good  deal  of  pleasure." 

"  That  is  not  easy,  my  Lillo.  It  is  only  a  poor  sort  of  hap- 
piness that  could  ever  come  by  caring  very  much  about  our 
own  narrow  pleasures.  We  can  only  have  the  highest  ha]»pi- 
ness,  such  as  goes  along  with  being  a  great  man,  by  having 
wide  thoughts,  and  much  feeling  for  the  rest  of  the  world  as 
well  as  ourselves ;  and  this  sort  of  hapjnness  often  brings  so 
much  pain  with  it  that  we  can  only  tell  it  from  jiain  by  its  be- 
ing Avhat  we  would  choose  before  every  thing  else,  because  our 
souls  see  it  is  good.  There  are  so  many  things  wrong  and 
difficult  in  the  Avorld  that  Jio  man  can  be  great — he  can  hardly 
keep  himself  from  wickedness — unless  he  gives  uj)  thinking 
much  about  pleasures  or  rewards,  and  gets  strength  to  endure 
what  is  hard  and  painful.  My  father  had  the  greatness  that 
belongs  to  integi'ity  ;  he  chose  jioverty  and  obscurity  rather 
than  falsehood.  And  there  was  Fra  (lirolamo — you  know  why 
I  keep  to-morrow  sacred  :  he  had  the  greatness  which  belongs 
to  a  life  spent  in  struggling  against  jiowerful  wrong,  and  in 
trying  to  raise  men  to  the  highest  deeds  they  are  caj)able  of. 
And  So,  my  Lillo,  if  you  mean  to  act  nobly  and  seek  to  know 
the  best  things  God  has  put  within  reach  of  men,  you  must 
learn  to  fix  your  miml  on  that  end,  and  not  on  what  will  hap- 
j)en  to  you  because  of  it.  And  remember,  if  you  were  to  choose 
something  lower,  and  make  it  the  rule  of  your  life  to  seek  your 
own  pleasure  and  escajie  from  what  is  (lisagreeablc,  calamity 
might  come  just  the  same;  and  it  would  be  calamity  falling 
ona  base  mind,  which  is  the  one  form  of  sorrow  that  has  no 
bahn  in  it,  and  that  may  well  make  a  man  say,  '  It  would  have 
been  better  for  me  if  I  had  never  been  born.'  I  will  tell  you 
something,  Lillo." 

Komoia  jtaused  a  moment.  She  had  taken  Lillo's  cheeks 
between  her  hands,  and  his  young  eyes  were  meeting  hers. 

"  Theie  Avas  a  man  to  whom  T  was  vei'v  near,  so  that  I  could 


ROMOLA.  517 

see  a  great  deal  of  his  life,  who  made  almost  every  one  fond 
of  him,  for  he  was  yomig,  and  clever,  and  beautiful,  and  his 
manners  to  all  were  gentle  and  kind.  I  believe,  when  I  first 
knew  him,  he  never  thought  of  doing  anything  cruel  or  base. 
But  because  he  tried  to  slip  away  from  every  thing  that  was 
unpleasant,  and  cared  for  nothing  else  so  much  as  his  own 
safety,  he  came  at  last  to  commit  some  of  the  basest  deeds — 
such  as  make  men  infamous.  He  denied  his  father,  and  left 
him  to  misery  ;  he  betrayed  every  trust  that  w^as  reposed  in 
him,  that  he  might  keep  himself  safe  and  get  rich  and  pros- 
perous.    Yet  calamity  overtook  him." 

Again  Romola  paused.  Her  voice  was  unsteady,  and  Lillo 
was  looking  up  at  her  with  awed  wonder. 

"  Another  time,  my  Lillo — I  will  tell  you  another  time.  See, 
there  are  our  old  Pi'ero  di  Cosimo  and  Nello  coming  up  the 
Borgo  Pinti,  bringing  us  their  flowers.  Let  us  go  and  wave 
our  hands  to  them,  that  they  may  know  we  see  them." 

"  How  queer  old  Piero  is  !"  said  Lillo,  as  they  stood  at  the 
corner  of  the  loggia,  watching  the  advancing  figures.  "  He 
abuses  you  for  dressing  the  altar,  and  thinking  so  much  of  Fra 
Girolamo,  and  yet  he  bi-ings  you  the  flowers." 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Romola.  "  There  are  many  good  peo- 
ple who  did  not  love  Fra  Girolamo.  Perhaps  I  should  never 
have  learned  to  love  him  if  he  had  not  helped  me  when  I  was 
iii  great  need." 


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All  Times  and  Nations.  Willi  'lahles  of  Factory  and  Artists'  Marks,  for 
the  Use  of  Collectors.  By  Wii.i.iam  C.  Prime,  LL.I).  Blustrated. 
8vo,  Cloth,  Uncut  Edges  and  Gilt  Tops,  $7  00;  Half  Calf,  $9  25.  (In 
a  Bo.\.) 

CESNOLA'S  CYITIUS.  Cyprus:  its  Ancient  Ciiies,  Tombs,  and  Tem- 
ples. A  Narrative  of  Researches  and  E.xcavations  during  Ten  Years'  IJesi- 
dence  in  tliut  Island.  By  L.  P.  di  Cesnola.  With  Portrait,  Maps,  and 
400  Illustrations.     8vo,  Cloth,  E.xtra,  Uncut  Edges  and  Gilt  Tops»^7  r>0. 

TENNYSON'S  COMPLETE  POEMS.  The  Complete  Poetical  Works  of 
Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson.  Wiih  an  Introductory  Sketch  by  Anne  Thackeray 
Ititchie.     Willi  I'orlraiis  and  liliistraiions.      8vo,  Cloth.     (I/i  Press.) 

FLAM  MARIONS  ATMOSPHERE.  Translated  from  the  French  of 
Camii.t.e  Fi.AMMAniox.  With  10  Chromo-Lithographs  and  8G  Wood- 
cuts.    8vo,  Cloth,  $G  00  ;  Half  Calf,  sfS  2.">. 

SriHCKLANirS  (Mis.«)  QUEENS  OF  SCOTLAND.  Lives  of  the 
Queens  of  Scotland  and  English  Princesses  connected  with  the  Regal 
Succession  of  fireat  Britain.  By  Agnes  Stuhki.and.  S  vols.,  I'Jnio, 
Cloth,  *12  00;    Half  Calf,  .*2G  00. 

BLAIKIES  life  of  DAVID  LIVINGSTONE.  Menaoir  of  his  Per- 
sonal Life,  fi'oin  his  Unj)tiblished  Journals  and  Correspondence.  By  W. 
G.  Ki.AiKii:,  D.l).     WnU  Portrait  and  Map.     Svo,  Cloth,  !j2  25. 


Valuable  Works  for  Public  and  Private  Libraries.  7 

BAKER'S  ISMAILIA :  a  Narrative  of  the  Expedition  to  Central  Africa 
for  tiie  Sii]jpiessioii  of  tlie  Slave-trade,  organized  by  Ismail,  Khedive  of 
Egypt.  By  Sir  SaxMUkl  W.  Bakeu.  Witli  Maps,  Portraits,  and  Illustra- 
tions.    8vo,  Clotli,  $5  00  ;   Half  Calf,  $7  25. 

LIVINGSTONE'S  SOUTH  AFRICA.  Missionary  Travels  and  Ke- 
searches  in  South  Africa :  including  a  Sketch  of  Sixteen  Years'  Resi- 
dence in  the  Interior  of  Africa,  and  a  Journey  from  the  Cape  of  Good 
Hope  to  Loanda,  on  the  West  Coast ;  thence  across  tlie  Continent,  down 
the  River  Zambesi,  to  the  Eastern  Ocean.  By  David  Livingstone. 
With  Portrait,  Maps,  and  Illustrations.     8vo,  Cloth,  $4  50. 

LIVINGSTONE'S  ZAMBESI.  Narrative  of  an  Expedition  to  the  Zam- 
besi and  its  Tributaries,  and  of  the  Discovery  of  the  Lakes  Siiinva  and 
Nyassa,  1858  to  1834.  By  David  and  Charles  Livingstone.  Illus- 
trated.    Svo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 

LIVINGSTONE'S  LAS  T  JOURNALS.  The  Last  Journals  of  David 
Livingstone,  in  Central  Africa,  from  ISG.I  to  his  Death.  Continued  by 
a  Narrative  of  his  Last  JNIoments,  obtained  from  his  Ejiithfiil  Servants 
Chuma  and  Susi.  By  Horace  Waller.  With  Portrait,  Maps,  and 
Illustrations.  Svo,  Cloth,  $5  00 ;  Siieep,  fG  00.  Cheap  Popular  Edi- 
tion, 8vo,  Cloth,  with  Map  and  Illustrations,  $2  50. 

SIIAKSPEARE.  The  Dramatic  Works  of  Shakspeare.  With  Notes.  En- 
gravings. G  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $1*  00.  2  vols.,  8vo,  Cloth,  ft  00; 
Sheep,  $5  00.     In  one  vol.,  Svo,  Sheep,  $4  00. 

CURTIS'S  LIFE  OF  BUCHANAN.  Life  of  James  Buchanan,  Fifteenth 
President  of  the  United  States.  By  George  Ticknou  Curtis.  With 
Two  Steel  Plate  Portraits.  2  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth,  Uncut  Edges  and  Gilt 
Tops,  $G  00. 

GENERAL  BEAUREGARD'S  MILITARY  OPERATIONS.  The  Mili- 
tary Operations  of  General  Beauregard  in  the  War  between  the  States, 
1861  to  18G5  ;  including  a  brief  Personal  Sketch,  and  a  Narrative  of  his 
Services  in  the  War  with  Mexico,  1846  to  1848.  By  Alfred  Roman, 
formerly  Aide-de-Camp  on  the  Staff  of  General  Beauregard.  With  Por- 
traits, «S;c.  2  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth,  $7  00;  Sheep,  $9  00;  Half  Morocco, 
$11  00;   Full  Morocco,  $15  00.     {Sold  only  by  Subscription.') 

GIESELER'S  ECCLESIASTICAL  HISTORY.  A  Text-Book  of  Church 
History.  By  Dr.  John  C.  L.  Gieseler.  Translated  from  the  Fourth 
Revised  Geiman  Edition.  Revised  and  Edited  by  Rev.  Henry  B. 
Smith,  D.D.  Vols.  L,  II.,  III.,  and  IV.,  Svo,  Cloth,  $2  25  each  ; 
Vol.  v.,  Svo,  Cloth,  $3  00.  Complete  Sets,  5  vols.,  Sheep,  $14  50; 
Half  Calf,  $23  25. 


8  Valuable  Works  for  Ihtblic  and  Private  L'ibraria>. 

Ar.ISON'S  ITISTOllY  OF  EUROPE.  From  tlic  Commencement  of  the 
Frencli  Revolniiun,  in  ITH'J,  to  tlie  Accessi(m  of  Louis  Is'iijjolcon,  in  18.">li. 
8  vols.,  8vo,  Cloth,  $16  00. 

NEANDEIl'S  LIFE  OF  CIIlilST.  The  Life  of  Christ;  in  its  Ilistoiionl 
Connection  iuiil  its  Ilistoiical  Development.  By  Augustus  Neander. 
Transliited  from  the  i'oiirth  Gciman  Edition  by  I'lofessors  M'Clintock 
&  Dt-rMicNTiiAi.,  of  Dickinson  College.     8vo,  Cloth,  $2  'A). 

KOKDIIOFFS  COMMUNISTIC  SOCIETIES  OF  THE  UNITED 
STATES.  The  Communistic  Societies  of  tlie  United  States,  from  Per- 
sonal Visit  and  Observation;  including  Detailed  Accounts  of  the  Econo- 
mists, Zoarites,  Shakers,  the  Amnna,  Oneida,  Bethel,  Aurora,  Icarian,  nnd 
other  existing  Societies.  By  Ciiaklks  Nordhoff.  Illustrations.  8vo, 
Cloth,  $4  00. 

GRIFFLS'S  JAPAN.  The  Mikado's  Empire:  Book  I.  History  of  Japan, 
from  (iCO  B.C.  to  1872  A.D.  Book  II.  Personal  Experiences,  Observa- 
tions, and  Studies  in  Japan,  from  1870  to  1874.  By  W.  E.  Guifkis. 
Copiously  Illustrated.     8vo,  Cloth,  $4  00;  Half  Calf,  $G  25. 

SMILES'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  HUGUENOTS.  The  Huguenots:  their 
Settlements,  Churches,  and  Industries  in  England  and  Ireland.  By 
Samukl  Smilks.  With  an  Appendix  relating  to  tlie  Huguenots  in 
America.     Crown  Svo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 

SMILES'S  HUGUENOTS  AFTER  THE  REVOCATION.  The  Hu- 
guenots in  France  after  the  Revocation  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes;  with  n 
Visit  to  the  Country  of  the  Vaudois.  By  Samuel  Smiles.  Crown  8vo, 
Cloth,  $2  00. 

SMILES'S  LIFE  OF  THE  STEPHENSONS.  The  Life  of  George  Ste- 
phenson,  and  of  his  Son,  Robert  Stephenson ;  comprising,  also,  a  History 
of  the  Invention  and  Introduction  of  the  Railway  Locomotive.  By  Sam- 
uel Smiles.     Illustrated.     8vo,  Cloth,  $3  00. 

SCIILIEMANN'S  ILIOS.  Ilios,  the  City  and  Country  of  the  Trojans.  A 
Narrative  of  tlie  Most  Recent  Discoveries  and  Researches  made  on  th' 
Plain  of  Troy.  By  Dr.  Henky  ScriLiiCMANN.  Maps,  Plans,  and  Illustra- 
tions.    Imperial  8vo,  Illuminated  Cloth,  $12  00;  Half  filorocco,  $15  00. 

SCIILIEMANN'S  TROJA.  Troja,  Results  of  the  Latest  Researches  and 
I)iscoverie<  on  the  Site  of  Homer's  Troy,  and  in  the  Heroic  Tumuli  and 
other  Sites,  made  in  the  Year  1882,  and  a  Narrative  of  a  Journey  in  the 
Troad  in  1881.  By  Dr.  Henkv  Siiiliemann.  Preface  by  Professoi' 
A.  H.  Saycc.     With  Woodcuts,  Maps,  and  Plans.     8vo,  Cloth,  i^l  50. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


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